When Xia Ming's gaze turned downward.
He could clearly feel countless fiery gazes from all directions.
They were all converging on him alone.
They belonged to the younger generation of Soul Masters.
Their eyes lacked the complexity, reverence, or wariness of the older powerhouses.
Instead, they burned with a purer emotion.
Almost devout admiration, along with boundless yearning for the legend itself.
The reason was simple: he was their peer, yet he had become the myth of their era.
While they toiled in their academies, striving to break through to the third or fourth soul ring.
Xia Ming's name had already resounded across the continent like thunder, and he had become the continent's strongest.
When they began to make names for themselves and took pride in their cultivation surpassing that of their peers.
Xia Ming's deeds had already soared to the heights of slaying gods.
Even the parents of Tang San, the legendary and supreme Sea God, had fallen by his hand.
To them, Xia Ming was not a vague portrait in a history book, nor was he some unattainable legend spoken of by their elders.
He was alive, the pinnacle who breathed the air of the same era as them—the miracle itself, impossibly beyond their reach.
In this era, Xia Ming was the one and only figure universally acknowledged as worthy of every genius's admiration.
Xia Ming felt the weight behind those gazes.
Thus, the expression on his face softened slightly, and he smiled at the crowd below.
That smile instantly stirred even greater waves in the hearts of countless young Soul Masters.
Many instinctively straightened their backs, as though they had received tremendous encouragement.
At the same time, Xia Ming's near-perfect perception clearly detected another invisible tide.
It surged toward him along with those burning gazes and excited