He took one step, and the bones beneath his feet crumbled to dust!
It was a soundless annihilation, as though ten thousand years had been compressed into an instant beneath that single step.
The hill of bones collapsed into a pale cloud of dust, drifting like snow through the faint light at the bottom of the tower.
With his second step, he was already before the two women. He raised his withered hand and gave a gentle wave.
A cool breeze brushed their faces.
It was warm and gentle, carrying the scent of sandalwood, yet it also held a measure of ancient, timeworn power.
As the breeze passed, Ye Honglian and Ji Yaoguang felt their spiritual energy wrapped in a veil of silk—gentle, yet impossible to resist—as it sank into the depths of their bodies.
Their consciousnesses were like stones plunging into a deep pool, sinking rapidly, their eyelids heavy as lead.
Before they lost consciousness entirely, their vision began to blur, as though they were seeing the world through rippling glass.
Everything at the bottom of the tower warped and stretched—
The bones scattered across the floor, the fresh, sharp sword scar on the stone wall, and the lingering traces of Sword Qi in the air.
Then they saw Ku Chan's figure turn transparent, dissolving into a wisp of green smoke.
The smoke was light as a feather, yet contained a will that brooked no question. It followed the passage pierced through the center of the tower by that heaven-shaking sword light, rushing upstream toward the top.
The passage left by the sword scar that pierced all nine floors still held the aura of Wang Xian's earlier strike.
Thin strands of Sword Qi darted through the air like fish.
But the green smoke Ku Chan had become ignored them,