Feng Xiao collapsed onto the ground, his pupils trembling nonstop.
He raised his head and felt the space around him become boundlessly vast, while he himself shrank into infinite insignificance.
The sickly young master looking down on him had become a towering giant of contempt. Beside him, shadowy passersby whose very colors had distorted whispered among themselves, every word piercing his heart.
Pointed at by a thousand men! "No—"
Feng Xiao clutched his head and scrambled backward until his back struck a pillar. Only then did he feel he had something to lean on.
"It was only one sword! Nothing more than that!"
"How could anyone possibly do that... You're lying! You're deceiving me! You want to destroy my Dao Heart!"
Feng Xiao angrily pointed at the giant Xu before him, his finger shaking violently.
"If deceiving yourself can make you feel better, then this young master has nothing to say."
"Ah!!!"
Hearing that heart-rending howl, everyone could already see clear devilish energy spilling from Feng Xiao's body.
Cracking sounds rang out without end.
Something inside Feng Xiao's body seemed to be breaking apart.
The aura of Dao Rhythm around him was withering away, and the intent of a Sword Dao Throne was fading...
"Enough!" The old man in the ghost mask could endure it no longer and shouted furiously.
No matter what, Feng Xiao was a member of the Ghost-God Gang. He could not simply watch him be humiliated to death like this.
Yet the sickly young master's interpretation of an ancient sword cultivator was something even Ghost Mask felt he could not withstand if he stepped in, leaving him unsure how to respond.
Words could strike where it hurt; every person had their own hidden affliction.
"A pitiful person must have something hateful about him..."
The sickly young