Qingyao Mountain.
Half of the towering mountain range had collapsed, and countless columns of smoke twisted together before surging skyward with a thunderous roar.
In the depths of the enormous new abyss, where the bottom could not be seen, something gurgled and churned, like a cold spring, like magma. As they mingled, dust and misty vapor billowed through the abyss, shrouding everything from view.
From the void to the earth, and then across the entire abyss, saber marks crisscrossed everywhere, dense and innumerable.
Each saber mark brimmed with pure, concentrated saber intent, so imposing and terrifying that any living being who looked upon it seemed destined to be hacked to pieces by a thousand blades and plunged into eternal ruin.
Suspended in midair, Pei Ling stood with his saber in hand, his chest rising and falling slightly, his breath somewhat unsteady. Several hideous wounds crisscrossed his body. Not a drop of blood showed within them; only Crimson Gold Flames blazed fiercely. Even as surging magic power repeatedly washed over them, the flames remained difficult to extinguish.
The Demon Emperor had vanished from the high sky. Three pitch-black Golden Crow feathers, stained with a little scorching blood, spun down from above.
Pei Ling slowly lowered his saber, then reached out and pulled the three Golden Crow feathers into his palm.
Whether for forging artifacts or refining pills, these were the finest Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures in this world. Whether he would need them later or not, he couldn't let them go to waste.
"Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough..."
As his thoughts turned, Pei Ling suddenly clutched his chest and broke into a violent fit of coughing.
Then he spat out a mouthful of black, clotted blood, and his breathing gradually began to steady. The flames around him quickly died away,