The white-haired had buried the black-haired.
An indescribable grief and fury swelled wildly in Tang Chen's chest.
His once-clouded eyes turned a terrifying dark red in an instant.
An oppressively terrifying aura spilled uncontrollably from his battered, ravaged body.
"Martial! Soul! Hall!"
He forced the words through clenched teeth, his hatred fierce enough to grind flesh and bone to dust.
That undisguised, terrifying aura immediately alerted the experts deep within the sect grounds.
"Who dares force their way into our Clear Sky Sect!"
Four sharp whistles abruptly pierced the air.
Four elderly figures dressed in white shot over from the main hall and landed heavily before Tang Chen and Tang Hao.
Leading them was the Clear Sky Sect's First Elder.
The other three elders flanked him, their Clear Sky Hammer Martial Souls already faintly appearing in their palms.
With the sect newly bereaved, every rustle of grass and every shadow of a tree seemed an enemy.
Faced with the sudden appearance of such a powerful, unknown aura, the four elders braced themselves as though confronting a formidable foe.
"Tang Hao?!"
The First Elder recognized the man kneeling in the snow at a glance.
When he saw the old man in a tattered gray robe beside Tang Hao, his heart clenched violently.
"He is..."
The old man had clearly withdrawn every trace of his Soul Power fluctuations.
Yet merely standing there, he gave the First Elder the suffocating sensation of facing a bottomless abyss.
Extremely dangerous!
Extremely powerful!
And beyond that,
as the First Elder stared at that weather-beaten face covered in dark red markings, a powerful sense of familiarity suddenly rose within him.
Those features, that stance, that domineering air of looking down upon the world.
The resemblance was uncanny!
Truly uncanny!
But the First Elder dared not acknowledge him.