From their childhood cultivation, even though they had come from Imperial Dynasty Immortal Sects, they had still endured countless hardships along the way.
Not to mention those Rogue Cultivators who had struggled so hard to reach this point.
Heavenly Mandate was so close now, only one step away.
The seven-colored Heavenly Mandate hung directly above their heads.
Everything felt like a dream, like an illusion, yet they were about to die so miserably.
It was not that they could not accept death. Anyone who had dared come to contend for the Heavenly Mandate had come prepared to either become someone or die trying.
But being slaughtered so cruelly by another was something they could not accept in their hearts.
Everyone longed for a death as weighty as Mount Tai; no one wished to be lighter than a feather.
"Everyone, I still have one final method," a voice sounded from beside them.
Like shade in a desert, it gave everyone hope.
They hurriedly turned to look. It was Changsun Wutian, the Holy Son of the Invincible Sect.
He wore a golden robe, his long hair cascading down his back. At this moment, he looked at the crowd with hesitation.
"If you have something to say, say it. There's no time to waste," someone beside him said.
"Our Invincible Sect's ancestor, the Invincible Emperor, once left behind an art called Primordial Strike," Changsun Wutian said.
"It can gather the power within every person and unleash the strongest possible strike."
As everyone knew, human strength was limited. Though it continuously increased through cultivation, no one could wield that power with complete perfection.
Just as a person could lift anything in the world, yet could not lift himself.
"Primordial Strike? Why have I never heard of such an art?" someone asked doubtfully.
"It's normal