"The next battle, Number Twenty-Eight."
After waiting for so long, the drawing of lots finally ended.
Staring at that number, the remaining cultivators looked around, wanting to see who Number Twenty-Eight was.
"Number Twenty-Eight is me."
"No need to look."
"Fellow Daoists, watch how I slaughter the Chaos Ancient Clan and avenge them."
A woman slowly stepped out from the crowd.
She did not deliberately release any pressure, yet the cultivators along her path unconsciously held their breath.
She wore a scarlet robe, its fabric seeming to be woven from fire-washed cloth and heavenly silkworm silk.
As she walked, the hem of her robe billowed like flowing sunset clouds brushing the earth, yet not a speck of dust stained it.
A dark-gold sash bound her waist, loosely tied in a knot, its remaining tassels hanging at her side and swaying gently with her steps.
Most eye-catching of all was the red-tasseled spear she carried upside down in her right hand.
The shaft was entirely dark and heavy, like black iron yet not black iron, with faint dark-red patterns winding across it like flowing veins of blood.
Every three breaths, those patterns lit up once. Whenever they did, the air around the spear subtly distorted, as though invisible flames were silently scorching it.
Then there was her face, three parts more dazzling even than that crimson robe.
Her black hair was not arranged in a bun, merely tied behind her head with a red cord of the same color. The rest cascaded to her waist, its ends lifting without wind beneath the surging holy aura.
Her features were exquisitely clear and cold, her brows like distant mountains touched with dark paint, while the corners of her eyes tilted faintly upward.
Her pupils were black as night. Yet in one fleeting turn,