Escape

Some wound edges had blackened, giving off a faint aura of decay—the marks of corrosion by abyssal power.

His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving violently, yet his eyes remained fixed stubbornly on the person opposite him.

Venerable Lingfeng stood to Thunder Splendor's right, holding his sword as he stood.

His sword intent remained, but it was clearly far more chaotic now.

That sword intent, once so sharp it seemed capable of severing all things, was now like a tangled mass of threads, roaming erratically within thirty feet around him.

His face was deathly pale, a trace of blood hanging from the corner of his mouth. He had clearly expended an enormous amount.

Yet the hand gripping his sword remained as steady as bedrock.

Qingwei stood between the two, emerald light curling around her.

That light had already grown exceedingly faint, so faint it was nearly transparent, like morning mist that might be scattered by the wind at any moment.

Her face was pale without a trace of color, her lips purple, fine beads of sweat seeping from her brow.

She circulated the Longevity Art, and the emerald radiance transformed into slender threads that slipped into Thunder Splendor's and Venerable Lingfeng's wounds, slowly healing them. But she was clearly almost out of spiritual power; with each healing, her face turned a shade paler.

Opposite the three of them stood three factions.

On the far left were the people of Heaven-Burning Valley.

Yan Qiong stood at the forefront, dark-golden flames coiling around his body.

Those flames burned even fiercer than when he had fought Chu Ming before. They surged and contracted unpredictably, and with every pulse, scorching waves of air spread outward, forcing the people around him to retreat several steps.

His expression was so gloomy it seemed ready to drip