The entire East Sea lay as dead and silent as a tomb.
Tens of thousands of cultivators stood frozen on the decks of their warships, forgetting even to breathe. The lingering aftermath of that sword strike had yet to fade, and the enormous rift cleaved through the heavens was still slowly healing, exposing the abyssal, heart-palpitating void turbulence beyond.
Kongwu, a Fourth Tribulation Immortal, had been severely wounded by a single sword strike.
The golden fragments scattered when that ten-thousand-foot golden Faxiang had been severed at the waist were still drifting down over the sea like fine rain, dyeing the ink-blue waters a brilliant gold.
Chen Changqing stood in the void, his blood-soaked azure robe snapping wildly in the sea wind.
After the Ten-Thousand Buddhas Nirvana Prison shattered, the suppression of Tribulation Immortal laws that had nearly crushed him into powder vanished without a trace, and the nine Purple Mansions within him resumed functioning normally. His right hand, clenched around the Immortal Execution Sword, trembled faintly—not from fear, but because the shock brought by that azure sword light had been too overwhelming.
What kind of sword had that been?
It had been so fast that its trajectory could not be seen.
So powerful that the Mount Sumeru Ancient Shield, the golden Faxiang, and the Ten-Thousand Buddhas Nirvana Prison had been like rotten wood and withered leaves before it.
The might of one sword had crushed a Fourth Tribulation Immortal.
Chen Changqing slowly raised his head, his gaze crossing the surging sea of clouds toward the faint trace left in the far east after the azure sword light dispersed. He had thought he had seen enough powerful figures already. His grandmaster Daoist Wu Zhen's might as a First Tribulation Immortal had been the ceiling of Mount Shu in his understanding.
Yet