Ten thousand silver threads drifted from the heavens, weaving a dense gauze curtain beneath the clouds.
The True Dragon had fled ten thousand miles in an instant through blood escape, yet the myriad strands of the fly-whisk overtook him despite setting out later and bound him in a heartbeat.
Xuanming exerted his power and gave the fly-whisk a gentle tug. Like a marionette, the True Dragon flew backward toward him.
An undisguised smile appeared on his face as he regarded the loach wrapped tightly in silver threads.
"Old bastard Xuanming, release this king at once!"
Flustered and furious, the True Dragon unleashed his divine abilities, shrinking one moment and expanding the next, turning into water, then light, wreathing himself in thunder, then encasing himself in ice.
Yet no matter how he struggled, he could neither escape the fly-whisk nor break its restraints. The more he failed, the more panic gripped him.
This meant that old bastard Xuanming possessed the strength to crush him with ease—and to take his life. Faced with death, the True Dragon naturally refused to sit helplessly awaiting his doom or bare his neck for execution.
When one person attained the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascended to heaven. The saying applied to objects as well. Though the fly-whisk was merely a Spirit Artifact, Xuanming had infused it with Dao principles and laws, making its might every bit the equal of a Dharma Treasure. Even if the True Dragon exhausted every trick he knew, escape remained impossible.
To prevent a long night from breeding more troubles, Xuanming wasted no time. After admiring the sight for only a few breaths, he raised his hand, thunder forming in his palm, and prepared to finish the True Dragon. Only a dead dragon could put his mind at ease.
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