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The mountains and rivers within those star realms trembled, the lakes and seas churned, and the sun, moon, and stars spun ever faster.

All the elemental spirits crouched down, pressing both hands against the ground as they desperately tried to stabilize their worlds.

The magma beneath the Flame Spirit's feet boiled, the ocean beneath the Water Spirit roared, and the earth beneath the Earth Spirit's palms cracked. That power was so immense that even his body trembled faintly.

It was not fear, nor pain, but endurance.

His brows were tightly furrowed, the veins on his forehead bulging like earthworms, his temples throbbing.

His teeth were clenched so tightly that the muscles in his cheeks twitched.

His fingers gripped the sword hilt with all their strength, his knuckles turning white and his joints cracking.

Yet he did not let go.

He simply held on.

Held on with a death grip.

That power was pouring into him.

From the hilt to his arm, from his arm to his shoulder, from his shoulder to his chest, from his chest to his dantian.

It surged through his body, scouring every meridian, every acupoint, every inch of muscle.

The places it had scoured became like iron tempered in blazing fire—tougher, denser.

The phantoms of the eight Dao Lords watched him.

In Battle Dao Lord's eyes were approval, gratification, and the pride of this brat truly has not disappointed me.

In Cang Xuan Dao Lord's eyes were emotion, relief, and the calm of thirty thousand years of waiting were worth it.

In Starsea Dao Lord's eyes were expectation, trust, and the encouragement of go on.

Eight pairs of eyes, eight kinds of emotion.

Yet one thing was the same.

They were looking at someone worthy of entrusting everything to.

The phantoms of the eight Dao Lords