His cold face twisted beneath the searing pain. Those eyes that had always been so resolute gradually clouded over.
Strangely, once the pain had piled up to a certain limit, it quietly crossed beyond the borders of perception. He had gone numb—so numb that he could no longer feel immortal arts blasting into his flesh time and again. Only a heavy, hollow exhaustion spread outward from his very bones.
He tilted his head back and stared vacantly at the sky.
"Junior Brother!"
"Junior Brother Purple Firmament!"
"Junior Brother!!"
Those voices came surging from an impossibly distant place, as though separated by thousands of mountains and rivers, as though divided by the two shores of life and death.
Countless figures emerged in the Skyvault. He stared at them foolishly, an inexplicable silly smile tugging at his lips. Yet immortal blood had already soaked through his robes, drop by drop, falling into the wind, scattering who knew where.
But suddenly.
Those figures began vanishing at terrifying speed. He wanted to lift a finger, but he was already numb and senseless. He wanted to seize something, but he no longer had the strength.
He seemed to remember.
They were Eternal Ancient cultivators who had died because of him.
Among them were quite a few senior brothers and senior sisters from the same sect.
Ke Zixiao's aura faded away strand by strand, and within his clouded gaze, exhaustion smothered everything else.
Yet he did not regret it.
The Heavenly Dao could not be released. Releasing the Heavenly Dao would open the true "age of demons running rampant," ushering in an era where all living beings would be culled.
Eternal Ancient had long been heading toward division. Its internal strife and disagreements would only grow worse. It had to be released from the outside;