The three Martial Gods of the Through-Ancient Dynasty were dead, their souls extinguished.
Scattered motes of divine power drifted down from the void and sank into the fractured, icebound ground of Supreme Mountain.
Li Yun hung in the sky, his white robes brighter than snow.
Not a trace of power leaked from him, yet the heaven-reaching means with which he had crushed three Martial Gods were seared into the depths of every martial artist's soul.
The crowd remained deathly silent.
More than ten thousand Martial Kings and Martial Emperors from across Blue Star lowered their heads and held their breath.
They barely dared to breathe, afraid the slightest sound would draw the attention of this supreme powerhouse.
The forces from beyond China that had clamored to besiege China and suppress its Martial Dao now stood silent as winter cicadas.
Bishops of the Western Holy See, divine generals of Northern Europe... one after another, they clenched their fists as cold sweat streamed down their palms.
Their eyes held the relief of survivors, and fear that had sunk into their bones.
The martial artists of the Northern Region Ice Bear had lost every trace of their former savage ferocity.
Each kept their head bowed, body trembling faintly, without even the courage to glance up at Li Yun.
The leaders and powerhouses of the Northern European War Division, the South American Ancient Martial Clan, the Eastern Wilderness Tribe, and the other forces had gone deathly pale.
Their minds reeled. Only one thought remained.
Li Yun of China had long since transcended the mortal world. He was a true god.
With a lift of his hand, he could wipe out every one of their forces. There was no fighting him.
Every faction understood that the gulf between themselves and China, between themselves and Li