The battle lasted a full three shichen, ending at the cost of sinking half a continent.
And just as that battle ended, the next one arrived. This one lacked such a grand spectacle; it was merely two old men carrying two longswords on their backs.
Though both old men had snow-white hair and stooped backs, the brightness in their eyes and the world-destroying aura around them made them impossible to ignore.
The two elders simply stared at each other. No one knew how long passed—perhaps a second, perhaps a day, perhaps a year.
In an instant, the two elders made their move. There were no flashy techniques, only a single sword strike—a sword strike of absolute purity.
After that strike, one of the elders shook his head sadly. He put away his longsword, shook his head once more, and turned to leave, while the other seemed to have cast off a heavy burden, a smile appearing on his face.
Then he knelt in the void, his aura completely extinguished.
After watching that battle, Ye Lin let out a sigh.
When one was young, one's blood surged hotly. Everyone looked unpleasant, and one wanted to go up and exchange a few moves with anyone one saw.
Defiant toward heaven and earth alike, brimming with boundless vigor and courage.
That was precisely where the phrase "young and hot-blooded" came from.
But once one grew old and watched the elders who had once belonged to the same generation leave one by one, sorrow inevitably rose in the heart.
With every person who departed, one became a little more alone.
Sometimes, a long lifespan and a long life were not a good thing. Watching one's former family, friends, and companions leave beneath one's gaze was undoubtedly a torment.
That was exactly the case for