Farewell to Southern Continent, the Road of Flight

It was already deep into the night.

Yet Glazed Prefecture City was ablaze with lights, and crowds streamed endlessly through its streets and alleyways.

Though the people of the Divine Dynasty had seen far more than the creatures of Vast Marsh's remote backwaters, they were still merely ordinary mortals.

For mortals, it was difficult to distinguish just how profound a demon's cultivation was. The most direct and brutal measure was the size of its body.

The Southern Emperor's demonic body had been far too enormous—so vast that its edges could not be seen at a glance. It had seemed that if it fell, all of Glazed Prefecture would be reduced to ruins in an instant.

Thus, even after several days had passed, the people remained immersed in the terror and exhilaration of having survived a great calamity.

Such an enormous demon had ultimately been pierced through by a divine sword formed from roaring heavenly fire.

Those who had not witnessed it firsthand could not possibly imagine the shock that scene had brought.

The name Nanyang had spread from mouth to mouth and was already being revered as that of a true immortal. At this rate, the building of temples and the offering of sacrifices would only be a matter of time.

Compared to the clamor outside, the main hall of the prefectural yamen was terrifyingly silent.

The three Generals Who Guarded the South sat without saying a word.

Yet none possessed their usual imposing majesty.

Yang Mingli absently flipped through the memorials on the table, his gaze vacant. Clearly, not a single word had entered his eyes.

At his side, Yan Lanting sat in his chair, bent forward blankly, rubbing his aged face again and again with both hands. He looked like an old farmer squatting on a field ridge,