Zhao Cheng's swordsmanship had now unquestionably reached a realm beyond mortal comprehension. Wherever his thoughts and senses reached, his blade responded; it gathered and scattered without form, changing in a thousand ways.
When he swung his sword, its edge was not aimed at any enemy. Yet with a single sweep, Heaven and Earth moved in unison, and countless rays of sword light naturally unfolded from the void—some hard, some soft, some yin, some yang. One sword swing took on a single form; if one had to describe it, it was roughly this: modeling Heaven and Earth, bearing six dragons to drive the heavens.
Thus, in many people's eyes, Zhao Cheng's sword swings were less slaughter than some ancient rite—a dance, a martial art, seemingly holding a path that reached the skies!
As for Zhao Cheng, he had not actually learned that many sword arts. Or rather, the supreme sword arts needed no learning at all. Once one's realm was high enough, every gesture carried the awe-inspiring might of Heaven.
Just like the natural world, with its myriad phenomena: wind, rain, thunderstorms, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes—how terrifying were they?!
Yet no one had ever seen Heaven and Earth practice something called technique.
They simply existed that way.
This evolution space was enormous, and there were more monsters than last time. It seemed that the more humans there were in the evolution space, the more monsters appeared.
Yet that was not the crucial part. The crucial part was that the monsters appearing this time included powerful Silver-grade monsters from the very first wave.
A monster of this level was practically a walking killing machine.
At the same time, Zhao Cheng saw the monsters' different paths of evolution. Some leaned toward growing in size, choosing the purest form of power—bigger was stronger—and