Haotian! How dare you speak of family ties?

The moment Haotian's Avatar descended, the atmosphere across the battlefield changed.

"His Majesty! It's His Majesty!"

"His Majesty has come! We're saved!"

The Heavenly Soldiers and Generals, who had been routed and fleeing like rats, saw the imposing figure in the Nine-Dragon Imperial Robe. It was as though they had found their pillar of strength. Tears of excitement filled their eyes, hope flared anew, and they dropped to their knees, shouting, "Long live His Majesty!"

By contrast, the hearts of Mei Mountain's army, Holy Mother Huoling, and the others sank.

The pressure of a Saint's power was like invisible shackles, pinning them in place. Even moving a finger was agonizingly difficult. All they could do was watch Yang Jian bear that abyssal, ocean-deep pressure alone.

"Second Brother!"

Yang Chan's face went deathly pale. She struggled to activate the Lotus Lantern, only to find that her power would not circulate beneath the Saint's pressure.

Holy Mother Huoling's expression was grave as she stared at the figure, helplessness filling her heart. So this was a Saint? Just an Avatar, and they couldn't even muster the will to resist.

At the center of the pressure, facing Haotian's Avatar, Yang Jian bore a burden billions of times greater than anyone else's.

He felt as though the entire Primordial World rested on his back. Every inch of bone and every drop of blood groaned and wailed. Fine cracks appeared across his Quasi-Saint body, tempered by the Nine Revolutions Mysterious Technique and once thought indestructible.

A Saint's Incarnation really was this terrifying!

Yet the pain in his body did nothing to quell the towering fury in his heart.

Haotian!

You've finally come out!

Yang Jian raised his head. His eyes were shot with blood, and the hatred and killing intent in his gaze seemed fierce enough