By then, it might no longer be measured in hours, but in seconds—or even fractions of a second.
In that case, even without tracing back into the past, simply growing with the natural passage of time would mean gaining the power of one additional self every second.
That was only the most basic estimate.
In Zhao Cheng's estimation, the reality would surely be far more outrageous than that.
Because at that point, his scale would definitely not merely spread along the timeline; it would also encompass the breadth of space. If the two were multiplied together, then in terms of pure power alone, every second he would become unimaginably stronger than he had been the second before.
His current self seemed powerful, and all his various attributes seemed absurdly beyond the norm. For instance, just now, his strength had increased by nearly six hundred thousand times in an instant. But that was only in relation to his present environment.
Compared to those freaks in the multiverse who swam through time, he was still only a hatchling.
Boom!
As the cycles of tribulation turned, within some infinitesimal instant, the Imperial Lord actually sensed within this sword a profound meaning that even he could scarcely comprehend.
Within this sword, multiverses were constantly being born and extinguished. Yet it was not that hollow notion of multiversal creation and destruction, but something substantial, rooted in the foundations of existence. It was not a lifeless painting, nor was it merely a "recording" of multiverses rising and perishing. This sword was alive. It had roots.
But with Zhao Cheng's level of power, how could he possibly comprehend something so profound?!
By all reason, at his own level, every phenomenon Zhao Cheng displayed should have been empty illusion to him.
It was like someone gazing up at