The purple sword in his hand rose lightly, its edge pointing at Xu Yang. With that single simple motion, the sacred aura within ten thousand zhang was pressed into solid stillness.
Every cultivator felt their chest tighten, as though an invisible giant hand had seized them by the throat.
The smile finally faded from Xu Yang's lips.
He felt that crushing pressure, like mountains toppling over, like the Sky Vault collapsing.
Cangwu at the pseudo-Fourth Heaven Quasi-Saint Realm and Cangwu at the Third Heaven Quasi-Saint Realm were utterly different people.
He tightened his grip on the long spear in his hand. Its shaft trembled faintly—not from fear, but from the surging blood and qi within his body.
He raised his eyes to Cangwu. All ease had vanished from them, leaving only resolve.
"Sixth Form..."
He murmured those four words softly, as if afraid of waking something.
The mysterious patterns on the spear began to flow in an unprecedented manner. They first turned crimson, then blazing white, before finally becoming a radiant golden light, as though a true Saint had descended into the world.
Yet that light was unstable, flickering brightly and dimly, jumping from time to time like a child who had only just learned to walk—unsteady, swaying, liable to fall at any moment.
He had yet to fully master this spear strike.
But he had to use it.
Because if he did not, he would die.
This Cangwu was strong—after taking six of his spear strikes in succession, he was still this strong.
If I'd known, I wouldn't have come here to show off this time.
"Boy, try my methods."
Cangwu moved, slashing his sword across the sky.
The purple sword swept through the heavens, drawing a violet rainbow that spanned the Sky Vault. Thunderclap traveled with the blade,