"Th-this... What is this..."
Ye Honglian collapsed to the ground. She had long since forgotten the pain of the wound on her shoulder; all that remained was a tremor deep in her soul.
The spirit sword in Ji Yaoguang's hand clattered to the ground.
She stared blankly at the scene before her. The countless white bones that had existed for who knew how many tens of thousands of years had silently vanished under the spread of the Chaos Fire, without even leaving behind ashes.
The flames burned for a full stick of incense.
When the last wisp of Chaos Fire died out, only a circular depression, ten zhang in diameter, remained in the center of the plaza—
Everything there had vanished: the ice crystals, the bones, every trace that Ku Chan had ever existed. The edges of the depression were smooth as a mirror, as if some supreme force had simply erased everything.
Dead silence.
Only the faint breathing of the three people remained inside the tower.
Wang Xian slowly sheathed his sword. The black cloth over his eyes had been lifted at one corner by the energy storm, revealing half of his handsome face. He stood up and slowly walked to the edge of the depression. Looking down at the empty space, he sighed softly:
"I told you it'd be better to stop. You just wouldn't listen."
He turned toward the two women, his tone returning to its usual gentleness. "Are you both all right?"
Ye Honglian and Ji Yaoguang exchanged a glance. They saw the same shock, bewilderment, and a trace of—fear—in each other's eyes.
Who exactly was this man who had always seemed so ordinary, even a little cowardly?
He could casually complete ancient scriptures, see through the fatal flaws in a cultivation technique at a glance,