Huff! Inhale!
The world in Zhao Cheng's eyes became incomparably real and vivid.
The entire world seemed to have been overlaid with a brand-new lighting mod. It was still the same world, yet when he looked upon it again, it was no longer the same.
The memories of two lives flowed through his heart: memories of his past life on Earth as an ordinary man, and memories of this life—as Zi Cheng, as a prince, as Di Cheng.
As for the Di Xin passed down by later generations, that was merely a stain his enemies had bestowed upon him. Had there been no calamity of national destruction, his imperial title would surely have been Di Cheng.
And beyond the intermingling flow of those two lifetimes of memories, there lingered a trace of something higher, more transcendent—like the cosmos and starry sky, like infinite worlds, boundlessly vast and all-encompassing.
At this moment, though he was utterly exhausted and drenched in blood, his spirit was more vigorous than ever before. Threads of power surged from his spiritual world and merged into this body, which was already nearly spent to the last drop.
Yet even for a sword saint, the power of the spirit ultimately could not interfere with matter or reality. It could not transform out of thin air into energy capable of sustaining the body's movements.
Sensing the flame igniting within Zhao Cheng's spiritual world, Hao—who had been brimming with confidence and styled himself Heaven—actually felt a trace of fear at that moment, not daring to press forward.
According to his original script, Zi Cheng should have been utterly spent by now. Then it would be his turn, as Heaven, to reap the fruits of victory.
And he had no interest in becoming the king of mortals. He wanted all kings