Crack!
The room's door was blasted open by a violent gust at that instant. A freezing current howled in, carrying the stench of rot.
Boom!
Zhao Cheng swung his sword at that moment as well. Sword and heart resonated as one. The wooden sword had no edge, yet it seemed to be wreathed in a thread of sunlight.
Amid a shrill scream, Zhao Cheng felt his sword cleave through something invisible.
At the same time, he vaguely came to a realization: perhaps all the "strangeness" in this place had been born from his fear.
Zhao Xiaoxiang, whom he had encountered in the first nightmare, had appeared because he had been afraid at the time, letting his imagination run wild. He had watched similar films before, and thus such a change had come to be.
The monsters he had encountered in the second nightmare had been the same. They were all things he feared in his heart.
But this time, when he feared nothing—or rather, when his fear was exceedingly faint—the strangeness here had become traceless and formless, easily shattered by his sword.
But where exactly was this place?!
The earth trembled. More precisely, an entire world was falling apart at this very moment.
Like a sealed house breaking open, it finally revealed the vast world outside.
Zhao Cheng looked up. Blood and fire stained the heavens red. The sun hung low in the west; dusk had arrived. Faintly, the thunder of war drums reached his ears, yet they were filled with the air of twilight, like the world's final elegy.
He sensed an indescribable order, a rigorous law operating above the great void, binding everything in place.
In a daze, he understood the essence of this world: war!
And he himself was an anomaly. Thus, the countercurrent of fate came