The tribulation clouds dispersed, and moonlight shone once more.
Bracing himself on his longsword, Chen Ming knelt on one knee and gasped for breath. Fine wounds covered his body, blood mingling with sweat as it trickled along the contours of his skin and dripped onto the scorched earth beneath him. The surrounding land had been ravaged beyond recognition by the tribulation lightning. Once-lush vegetation had been razed to the ground, the earth was charred black, and the air reeked of burning and ozone.
The spiritual power in his body had almost been squeezed dry. The nascent soul within his dantian had also lost its luster, curling into a ball as though utterly exhausted. He had poured nearly everything he had into surviving this tribulation. Had his nascent soul not unleashed a new surge of power at the final moment, he probably would not have endured that last strike of four lightning bolts at once.
But whatever the case, he had survived.
And he had succeeded.
From this day onward, he was a true nascent soul stage cultivator. Across the entire Chaotic Star Sea, nascent soul stage cultivators stood at the summit of the pyramid. Wherever they went, every faction would receive them as honored guests. Even before a colossus like the Star Palace, a nascent soul stage cultivator had the confidence to stand as an equal.
Chen Ming rested for roughly the time it took an incense stick to burn. Only after he felt a trace of strength return did he slowly rise. He took a clean set of robes from his Storage Bag and changed into them, then wiped down his ancient-looking longsword and returned it to its sheath.
He surveyed the wasteland the tribulation lightning had battered beyond recognition and gave a bitter smile. This deserted island had