The cultivators of the world had all gathered, yet they still could not halt the spread of the surging, uncanny red mist.
The red mist carried endless power of curses, as though mocking the people before it who sought to make a last, desperate stand...
The red mist kept expanding, forcing the cultivators' battle line back again and again.
The endless, uncanny red mist was like a catastrophe for the Ninth Realm, devouring it step by step.
The sky was dark and oppressive, weighing on the people until they could hardly breathe.
The entire world lay shrouded in gloom...
While rescuing someone, a rogue cultivator who wielded a sword accidentally got red mist on his right hand. The swordsman froze. He could feel some uncanny curse creeping up his arm toward his head.
The companion beside the sword cultivator looked at him, sorrow showing in his eyes.
Before his companion could react, the sword cultivator made his decision on the spot. Holding his sword in his left hand, he swung it fiercely...
Blood splattered. He severed his own mist-tainted right arm in an instant.
His companion stared blankly at him, then saw him slowly lay the sword in his left hand across his own neck and close his eyes... as though waiting for something.
A moment later, nothing seemed to have changed. The sword cultivator slowly lowered his sword and let out a breath of relief.
Turning toward his dumbstruck companion, the sword cultivator smiled freely. "At worst, I'll just have to wield my sword with the other hand from now on."
His companion suddenly laughed and nodded. "Shall we keep going?"
"I'm not dead. Why stop?" Holding his sword in his left hand, the sword cultivator gave it a few awkward swings, then headed toward the edge of