"Is this the rift in spacetime where the Phantom Lethe Tributary lies?"
The myna bird gazed around in wonder. "Are these fragments of light glimpses of history from different points in time? Or projections of parallel worlds?"
"Probably both!"
Fang Chen's face was grave. He could feel how fragile the law of space-time was here, as thin as a sheet of ice, while the paths of fate were tangled like hemp.
Here, past, present, and future, reality and illusion, possibility itself—all intertwined and seeped into one another, impossible to tell apart.
The Fate Mist Dust he sought condensed from a manifestation at the edge of the River of Fate. This region before him was undoubtedly a stretch of foam or shadow born from the river's fluctuations. His chances of finding it here were high!
He tried extending his divine sense, only to find that the moment it left his body, it vanished like a clay ox sinking into the sea. The chaotic forces of spacetime and fate around him swiftly diluted and distorted it, even feeding him false information.
"Conventional divine sense won't work for searching!"
Fang Chen frowned, then thought of something and tightened his grip on the Floating Immortal Sword.
The Floating Immortal Sword could devour the origins of all things. Though Fate Mist Dust was not a physical substance, the fact that it could condense meant it had to contain the essence of some peculiar power of fate.
Perhaps he could find it through the Floating Immortal Sword's hunger for, or resonance with, that particular power?
He slowly channeled his fusion power into the Floating Immortal Sword, conveying to it his intent to seek something that could disrupt fate and veil the workings of heaven.
The Floating Immortal Sword trembled softly. The Chaos Vortex on its blade