Xu Zimo generally held those who created their own martial skills or cultivation arts in high regard.
What this world needed was fresh blood.
It needed powerful figures who carved out their own paths.
Not people who forever cultivated the things left behind by their elders.
If everyone did that, how could cultivation ever bloom with a hundred flowers?
Thus, upon hearing the words "Hundred Weapons Reaching Heaven," Xu Zimo naturally wanted to see it.
Po Jun's eyes were slightly closed.
Powerful strength continuously poured through his body.
His flesh, tempered for countless years and forged into countless weapons, now had dim radiance surging from within it.
"This guy has gone mad. He has condensed all the weapon souls of his weapons."
"Doing this will kill him. Are all these prodigies lunatics?"
The spectators below did not understand and began discussing heatedly.
Weapon souls were the essence of weapons.
One could say that without a weapon soul, a weapon was no different from scrap metal.
It would directly corrode and shatter.
And one had to know that Po Jun himself was a weapon.
What he was doing was utterly staking his life on the line.
"No wonder you said this move was incomplete," Xu Zimo said softly.
"I'm afraid you still haven't found something that can replace the weapon souls."
Because using this move once would cost him his life.
That was why Po Jun had never used it before anyone else.
After all the weapon souls had condensed together, Po Jun now looked like an old man whose life was flickering out like a candle in the wind.
In an instant, he had aged a hundred years.
His broken body remained standing, yet he was already finding it difficult to move.
His black hair turned white.
Yet there