"Yes. Someone like you, with such profound command of the Celestial Path... cannot speak carelessly."
King Zhao, woven from boundless radiant light, slowly rose from within the mountain. "A casual word may too easily become prophecy."
He spread his arms wide, and radiant light behind him wove itself into a long cloak—as though draping him in a royal robe.
He indeed held authority over fate. The "King" in King Zhao was thus proven: royal power granted life and took it away—he must have been a man of immense rank and power, or had once been one.
And at this moment, that authority manifested as strength.
His voice was vast and majestic, as though proclaiming a prophecy certain to come true—
[Jiang Wang speaks of life and death three times, and dies by the third discussion.]
It seemed that, in the unseen depths, a shadow had settled over Jiang Wang's fate.
Such a vast pall of gloom over this bleak life should have filled one with dread.
But Jiang Wang merely raised his sword and continued forward.
He had experienced the feeling of seeing no road ahead in the long river of fate long ago, at Soul-Severing Gorge.
This was nothing new!
"You decrepit old fossils!"
Jiang Wang had already turned the countless grass-and-tree tips around and charged at Divine Hero with sword in hand. The night curtain tore apart beneath his furious shout, its ragged rent like strips of black cloth drifting through the air.
Heavenly light poured down, and a three-thousand-zhang circle of daylight, like a round mirror, embedded itself in the heart of the torn night sky.
Rumble, rumble! Surging torrents!
The Heavenly River poured back from there, its surging, roiling power of the Celestial Path cascading into the mortal world. It transformed into a phantom heavenly image,