The other Ancient Emperors stopped holding back. Their last-resort divine abilities and phantom Magic Treasures appeared one after another. Attacks fiercer and denser than before rolled toward the hard-pressed Return to the Ruins Vortex and the figure flickering within it like a river of stars flowing backward.
Fang Chen was trapped in a storm of attacks. Under the countless blows, the Return to the Ruins Vortex flickered and shrank. Wounds multiplied across his body, healing slower than new injuries appeared. His aura surged and faltered, as though his lamp could run out of oil at any moment.
Yet his eyes only grew brighter. Two flames seemed to burn coldly in their depths. Each time he suffered a crushing blow, each time he neared collapse, the Floating Immortal Sword sent back a surge of purer energy, dragging him from the brink of death and pushing his strength toward a distant, formidable threshold.
The battle had become a brutal tug-of-war—and a crucible.
The Seven Emperors were the hammer and furnace. Fang Chen was the stubborn iron they struck, burned, and tempered again and again.
Every strike nearly shattered him. Every searing brought pain fit for the Underworld.
But each tempering made him tougher and stronger. Impurities burned away, while his Chaos Dao Body and Return to Ruin Sword Intent fused and transformed at an astonishing pace.
The cheers from the remnants of the Five Clans grew more brazen. They could already see the dawn of victory and began dreaming of how they would divide the New Alliance's resources and settle scores with the rebels once their patriarchs returned.
On the New Alliance's side, grief and despair reigned.
Many cultivators could no longer bear to watch. They lowered their heads and gripped their weapons, ready to face the darker fate ahead.
Tears streamed