The storm rose again, ribbons fluttering in the wind.
During another surge of raging tides, Fu Qian removed The Firstborn's Vision from his face and studied the chaotic Soul Butterflies.
It truly deserved to be called a relic of the Dragon King. The impact that had been difficult for him to withstand even after becoming a demigod had not even left a mark on them.
Still, it had some effect. For instance, their flight paths suddenly became somewhat disordered.
As a result, the Dragon King's already vague traces became almost impossible to discern in the blink of an eye.
Fortunately, how did that saying go again? His majestic figure would forever live on in his old friend's heart—
Trying to recall what he had just seen, Fu Qian reached out at one point, his hand passing through the Soul Butterflies as though he were stroking an invisible gigantic body.
His movements were somewhat strange, however. Before long, his palm turned into a claw, as if he were tearing off a chunk of flesh.
Naturally, he gained nothing. After the motion, his hand was completely empty.
For a moment, the entire scene took on the air of performance art, as though he had suffered hallucinations from being unable to let go of an old friend's departure.
After repeating this several times, even he seemed unable to bear the melancholy any longer, covering his eyes with the ribbon once more.
This dragon meat from heaven didn't seem to taste all that good?
At one point, Fu Qian removed the ribbon again and silently savored the taste in his mouth.
He was no longer making that tearing motion, and the hand in question was still perfectly clean and empty. Yet there truly was an extra taste in his mouth.
What he had