Meng Zhao gripped the God Slaying Spear tightly. After thinking it over several times, he ultimately did not strike. He merely stood there quietly, watching the snow-white flood dragon.
Only after the snow-white flood dragon had swallowed every wisp of green smoke from the incense burner into its belly did he step forward.
Over the past several years, the thought of slaying a dragon in his heart had changed several times.
At first, he had learned that such a strange creature existed in Little Cold Mountain and had wanted to kill it, take its Dragon Essence, and use it to enhance his own cultivation.
Later, he discovered that he seemed to have fallen under the influence of some unknown factor, developing a certain obsession with dragon slaying.
Until today, when he truly stood before this snow-white flood dragon and felt the peaceful aura and magnificent beauty emanating from it, he gained a deeper understanding of what Zhou Zhihan had once said—that the Mountain Dragon was favored by the fortune of heaven and earth.
It was not that Meng Zhao could not slay a dragon. Rather, at this moment, he was considering what dragon slaying truly meant to him.
He no longer cared for Dragon Essence, nor did he need to rely on external forces to improve his strength.
What mattered most was uncovering whether this world was real or false and seeing whether he could break free from this trial ground's confinement.
He had once believed that the urge to slay a dragon was a test, perhaps also an influence exerted upon him by the Heaven-Illuminating Divine Mirror. So long as he completed it, he could peer through the truth of this world and return to the Divine Continent.
But now, he wavered.
He suddenly thought of those predecessors of