The power of the Blood Mist was extraordinarily complex and troublesome. It possessed no tangible form that could simply be destroyed, like a natural phenomenon of heaven and earth. Meng Zhao could repel and disperse its assaults countless times, but if he truly dealt with it that way, he would only bind his own hands and feet, falling into the Blood Mist's rhythm of battle.
Though Meng Zhao was young, he had fought a hundred battles and possessed superb combat instincts. With one stomp, waves of earth surged up. Layers upon layers of dark-red soil burst apart, turning into endless red sand and dirt that spread through, clung to, and covered the Blood Mist.
Then, guided by his spiritual senses, Meng Zhao shot off in one direction at extraordinary speed. Streams of Astral Qi transformed into dragon shapes beyond his body, roaming through the void. Along the way, they tore through heaven and split the earth, their fierce and mighty force carrying Meng Zhao forward and dispersing the Blood Mist ahead.
No one knew how long he traveled. The Blood Mist gradually thinned before finally dispersing altogether, replaced by a sinister place filled with jagged white bones.
Light as a swallow, Meng Zhao drifted down to the ground. One foot stood within the range of the Blood Mist, while the other stepped into the Bone Forest.
"Interesting. Spiritual consciousness is hidden within the Blood Mist, and this land of gleaming white bones does not seem so simple either!"
Meng Zhao truly wanted to uncover the secrets of this Blood Mist Land. Perhaps he might fish up some benefits from it. Of course, he might also genuinely alarm the source of the Blood Mist and trigger an immeasurable crisis.
Thus, Meng Zhao ultimately chose the more prudent approach, taking the chance