"Hmph. I knew Hidden Sword Mountain wouldn't be able to sit still!"
Above the sky vault that trembled without end, an old, hoarse voice sounded slowly, as if it had come from the Nine Hells, carrying endless chill and mockery as it echoed on and on over this fiercely clashing battlefield.
"Is that so? Hidden Sword Mountain has not entered the world for many years. It seems the people of the world have forgotten what a sword cultivator is!"
A voice like a great bell, wrapped in sharp sword qi, suddenly rang out.
The voice was like metal striking stone, clear and sonorous. The moment it sounded, it was like a surging tide, instantly drowning out all the deafening battle din around it.
For a moment, the entire battlefield seemed to have been struck by a body-freezing spell. Everyone subconsciously stilled their movements, their gazes following the sound.
"Sword, rise!"
Following that brief, powerful shout, a cold light suddenly streaked across the horizon. That cold light was as fine as strands of hair, yet so bright it pierced the eyes, as though it meant to split heaven and earth in two.
In the blink of an eye, the cold light instantly expanded, sword qi crisscrossing all around it. Countless tiny strands of sword qi circled and shuttled like wandering dragons, cutting through heaven and earth until they hissed with a "zzzt zzzt" sound.
The sword-bearer revealed himself. His plain white robe snapped loudly, his long hair whipped wildly in the wind, his gaze was cold as frost, and his whole body radiated the air of a sword cultivator—extraordinary and refined, supreme above all.
He raised his hand lightly, and under his control, countless tiny strands of sword qi poured down toward the battlefield below.
The huge black palm appeared once