In an instant, the giant dragon embroidered on his chest seemed to come alive.
The dragon's whiskers and mane trembled. From deep within the clouds came faint, low dragon roars, echoing the quivering dragon head embroidered on his robes.
On the luxurious flying vessel, Zhao Mingyuan's full head of black hair turned gray-white in an instant.
His hair spilled loose and whipped wildly in the wind. Wrinkles spread across his resolute face like a spiderweb, covering it in the blink of an eye.
In a single instant, he had aged several decades, becoming an old man with white hair and a face full of wrinkles.
Clearly, the technique he was activating at this moment came at an enormous cost.
For any cultivator, lifespan was an incomparably precious thing, heavier than all else.
How many cultivators had clearly reached the peak of their realm, only to be blocked by the Great Dao for lack of that tiny sliver of time, left to die in unwilling meditation?
But the pain of losing his son had made Zhao Jingfeng cast everything else aside. At this moment, he had only one thought. Only by personally slaying his enemy and avenging his son could he vent the towering hatred in his heart!!!
Dragon roars echoed through the mountains and forests, like mournful cries, like furious howls...
A terrifyingly dreadful aura swept across the entire battlefield, filling every cultivator present with inexplicable dread.
Su Shi'er bore the brunt of it, instantly feeling himself enveloped by an inexplicably powerful and razor-sharp killing intent.
Whether it was the puppet body or his true body, both seemed trapped in a mire, utterly unable to move.
Su Shi'er was secretly alarmed, his heart sinking without cease.
Yet his expression did not change. Without a second thought, the Golden Pill within