Before his voice had even faded, the words "Witch-Slaying" had already surfaced on the sword's hilt. Two ancient, crude, bizarre tadpole characters quietly emerged, eerie light flowing around them and releasing an indescribable pressure.
Far away in the depths of the Primordial World, within Pangu Hall hidden among countless mountains, the Twelve Ancestral Witches suddenly felt a chill at the backs of their necks, as though a sharp blade had been pressed to their throats. Their bodies trembled, their backs prickled, and their hairs stood on end.
The Demon Race had secretly forged the Witch-Slaying Sword. The final battle between the Witch Clan and the Demon Race was already imminent.
The ominous warning in the hearts of the Twelve Ancestral Witches vanished in an instant, as if it had been an illusion. Yet like ink dripping into water, it spread a shadow through the depths of their minds. Though they did not know where the danger came from, they had heard that the Demon Race had mobilized all its forces this time and had even formed a mortal enmity with a disciple under Su Yang. In all likelihood, that was the source of this overwhelming murderous intent.
The Witch Clan did not understand the workings of Heaven, nor could they sense the flow of destiny. They remained oblivious to their own fortunes and disasters, and their shortcomings were fully exposed at this moment. Di Jun and Tai Yi still knew how to scheme and make arrangements, preparing an escape route for the Tenth Prince long in advance. Meanwhile, the Witch Clan, from top to bottom, remained completely unaware of the imminent danger of annihilation, spending their days either bitterly cultivating their magic power or indulging their every whim without restraint.
Born with disdain for Heaven and Earth, yet refusing to