Xiao Chen murmured to himself, his face full of bewilderment.
The eyes that had once been veined with blood were now dim and lifeless.
His body trembled ever so slightly. His clenched fists tightened until his knuckles turned deathly pale. His nails dug deep into his palms, drawing thin trails of blood, yet he felt no pain at all.
A thousand years of hope, gone in a single moment.
His sworn friends, who had once fought beside him across the continent, had perished, their souls extinguished.
The ancient clan that had once shaken the four seas had already fallen apart.
The passion and anticipation he'd felt upon breaking free had been shattered to pieces by the cruel reality before him.
Boundless regret, grief, indignation, and despair surged over him like a raging tide, swallowing him whole.
He hated the Hun Clan for its treachery and wolfish ambition, for slaughtering the Xiao Clan's bloodline.
He hated the Ancient Clan for breaking faith and repaying kindness with betrayal, for abandoning their old pact and looking on coldly as their former allies marched toward ruin.
Most of all, he hated the man he'd been a thousand years ago. He hated that he'd insisted on venturing alone into another dimension to subdue the Purifying Lotus Demon Flame.
If he'd stayed with his clan back then, even if he couldn't have turned the tide, he could at least have protected many of his clansmen. The Xiao Clan would not have suffered such a tragic fate.
Seeing his ancestor plunged into bottomless grief, Xiao Yan didn't approach or disturb him. He simply stood quietly to one side and waited.
He knew that a wound this deep could never be healed with a few words.
Only Xiao Chen himself could slowly come to terms with the vicissitudes