Viewers narrowed their eyes. The burning sea of blood was saturated with resentful, violent killing intent, using that very intent as fuel to form a terrifying impact. Just looking at it made the blade auras feel like needles pricking the eyes, warping the four-foot green blade itself and obscuring its physical form.
Similarly, Wei Tongyin, trailing behind, had his figure warped and even dematerialized. Through the water mirror, this expert who could stand toe-to-toe with Yang Zhu looked as though he had been incinerated by extreme heat. People could only pierce the blood-red firelight to gaze at that phantom which had already lost human shape.
Was he still alive?
The resentful, violent killing intent alone—harvested from slaughtering over a million people in Seven River Peak City—was wild and chaotic. No cultivator could treat it lightly, especially now that it had coalesced and formed a boiling sea of blood. This wasn't merely frightening to look at; it was the manifestation of a certain pure sword intent—pure to the point of containing nothing but slaughter, yet it could never be regarded as a dead object.
In contrast, whether one wished to master it or confront it, it was a dual contest of willpower and the **. Given Wei Tongyin's current state, no one favored his chances.
And the facts proved this true.
While the mist surrounding the sword hadn't yet dissipated, intertwining black and red hues had now transformed into the color of pure, fresh blood. Only at the center, where Wei Tongyin was, remained a layer of shadow, though pitch-black colors soon smeared over it to conceal Wei Tongyin's meager remaining outline.
A moment later, demonic black light darted through the sprawling sea of blood. It originated from Wei Tongyin's position, but somehow lost its aim and swept across the crumbling