In that instant, perhaps because he himself was heading toward destruction, his mind was affected by that state as well. Threads of loneliness unexpectedly arose in Zhao Cheng's heart.
As for destruction, he had long since grown used to it.
When he had first obtained the Panel, he had amassed his first pot of gold through a self-destructive combat method, using it to forcibly kill bosses. Later, when he touched the high dimension and deduced the path of challenges, his own collapse in the course of verification had become an everyday occurrence as well.
But though he was used to it, seeing from this perspective the endless chains of tribulations pressing down upon him still stirred something within him.
Yet he did not waver because of it. Instead, he became even more resolute.
There had never been any Savior. In the face of every predicament, there was only the sword.
In that instant, Zhao Cheng recalled the time when he had just awakened the memories of his previous life: his bewilderment before the changing worlds of past and present, his anxiety at being an ordinary man who had achieved nothing and possessed nothing, with a life as thin as paper. That had been his portrait then.
So he had grasped a sword and trained day and night, wanting to use it to change his fate.
Now, he was stronger, but his predicament was greater as well. It seemed nothing had changed, and his original aspiration remained the same.
At this moment, time seemed to turn into a ring. Zhao Cheng had long comprehended the profound mysteries of the self; whether past or present, both were him. Yet now, stirred in spirit, his resolve became weightier and more agile.
It turned out that as destruction progressed, even that frozen instant of