Watching the demonic beast he had casually cut down, Yi Feng knew full well that his strength had reached a terrifying level.
By his estimate, he was probably among the very best of the Saints.
Yet he could not bring himself to feel happy.
With this level of cultivation, how was he supposed to die? Tell him, how was he supposed to die?
But if he did not die, the system's warning was still fresh in his mind.
More than ninety years from now, there would be a world-ending calamity.
If he could not achieve immortality and undying before then, he would face a true crisis of death.
So now, despite possessing immense power, Yi Feng was instead caught in an awkward position, stuck neither up nor down—dying was not an option, yet neither was not dying.
After thinking it over and over, he realized that making preparations on both fronts was best.
He would improve himself while also seeking death.
Though it was contradictory.
He did not want the great calamity to arrive only for him to have failed to die while his strength remained stuck in place.
With preparations on both fronts, at least over the next ninety-odd years, even if he failed to die, his strength would still improve, allowing him to better face the coming calamity.
And if he died in the process, that would be even better.
From then on, whether they were devils or humans, he would just go after whoever he caught.
If he won, he would gain experience.
If he lost, he would die happily.
Pulling his blood-dripping sword from the demonic beast beneath its terrified gaze, Yi Feng's eyes filled with realization, and a relieved smile appeared on his face.
"Hehe... I really am a genius!"
But to the demonic beasts,