Heaven and earth fell silent. Only the ringing of a sword remained.
Tu Hu stood upon the scorched earth, his hair white as snow. The golden greatsword in his hand hummed softly, as though countless heroic souls were unleashing an indomitable roar across a thousand years.
The sudden reversal plunged the battlefield into deathly silence.
Xingtong leaned on her psionic longsword, gasping violently, her crystalline purple eyes wide with disbelief and shock.
She stared at that back beneath the flying white hair, her mind blank.
This ancestor, whom she had known since childhood, had always been an elder plagued by lingering injuries, someone who needed specially supplied liquor to suppress his pain. More often, he was living history, silently watching over their civilization-yet now, he displayed power akin to a god's.
She remembered how generations of predecessors had been helpless against his injuries, remembered report after report bearing the words "impossible to analyze" and "beyond comprehension."
Only now did she understand what a terrifying existence their ancestor truly was.
The surrounding warriors stood even more dumbstruck.
Watching the golden light casually reduce the Corrupting Spirits to nothing, and their ancestor, before whom even the world itself seemed forced to retreat, they were shocked beyond measure.
Tu Hu paid no attention to his clanspeople's gazes.
His entire mind had become one with the sword in his hand.
He slowly raised its tip, pointing it at the intangible, formless world itself.
The reckoning was not yet over.
Soon, the tide of Corrupting Spirits surged again, fiercer than before. A gray-white torrent blotted out the sky, and enormous, mountainlike shadows coalesced within it—the manifestation of the World Will pouring in more power of rules.
Facing this destructive torrent that could drain heaven and earth of color, Tu Hu merely raised his sword calmly.