It could no longer form complete sentences, only broken syllables: "This is... my... power... mine..."
Wu Heng did not respond. He merely stood there, letting the aura of war on the battlefield continue to scour through him.
Three days and three nights passed, and War's voice vanished.
That dark crimson glow no longer pulsed, no longer flickered, no longer breathed. It became still and solid, like amber.
The void within the ring no longer churned either. Everything stood motionless, like the sea after a storm.
The two rings began to merge.
Wu Heng was not merging them. They were merging on their own.
The outer War Ring softened like water, wrapping around the inner Apocalypse War Ring, seeping in and filling every gap. They became one whole—a new ring.
Silvery white, not dark crimson.
It was silvery white, like moonlight, mercury, frozen light, yet it carried the aura of a torrent of steel.
The ring's surface was carved with dense, intricate patterns, all silhouettes of weapons: sabers, swords, spears, axes, bows, arrows, hammers, whips... packed tightly together in overlapping layers.
Every weapon was lifelike, the cold gleam on their blades seeming sharp enough to pierce a finger.
At the center of the ring was a symbol—the symbol of war: two crossed swords, blood dripping from their blades. The symbol was dark crimson, exceptionally glaring against the silvery-white surface, like a wound that would never heal.
The war trait had finally fused into one—complete, pure war trait.
But its source still belonged to War.
As long as War's essence still existed, even if only the final trace remained, the roots of the war trait would remain planted in it.
Wu Heng could absorb the power of war, use the ring to filter it, and store vast amounts of war energy within