Your Sword Is Sharp, but Mine Is No Less Sharp

Feng Shangyin's eyes turned cold. He flicked his hand and sent out eight talismans, apparently worried that Zhao Yan Ye and Zhao Yixian might go back on their word, and hurriedly drew the "rising star" into the formation talismans.

Space shattered, and black patterns of the void raced in every direction. Lu Bei let out a strange cry and was accidentally swept away by the darkness of the void.

"Now that you've entered this poor Daoist's palm, whether you live or die is no longer up to you, Xuan Long."

Feng Shangyin proudly stepped into the void and pursued the formation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two white-haired figures staring blankly and muttered inwardly, What a pair of dullards.

A Mahayana cultivator who had walked out of a sea of blood formed by the Demon Race's corpses was actually this foolish. Clearly, the Demon Race was nothing special.

After entering the void, he focused only on the reaction from the Xuanlong side and failed to notice that on the Xionggchu side, Elder Zhengqing was shaking his head and sighing. With his palms pressed together, the old monk began chanting the Sutra for the Departed.

Rumble——

Deep within the void, the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Formation Diagram formed a complete whole. Its gateways shifted and changed, undergoing hundreds or thousands of transformations with every breath. Within each transformation, the Five Elements Five Colors cycled endlessly, flourishing without end.

Inside the formation diagram, Lu Bei crashed about like a headless fly. The gap between a Tribulation Stage cultivator and a Mahayana cultivator was plain for all to see.

This was a gap in accumulated foundations. What one did not understand, one simply did not understand; it would not change just because someone shouted louder.

Standing outside the