Beyond the mountains lay another snowfield, but not the one to the south.
The mist here was much thinner, not because it had dispersed, but because most of it had been blown into the mountains.
The temperature here was even lower than in the mountains, as though even sound could freeze. All was deathly still.
Above the deathly still snowfield, a black Iron Sword flew silently, like a boat preparing to cross a cold, lifeless world.
The Iron Sword was broad. Jing Jiu sat at the front, with Bai Zao behind him.
Both the Zhongzhou Sect's cloud boats and the powerful cultivators of the Human Race had been left far behind, long since lost from sight.
In such an environment, ordinary cultivators' True Essence would grow sluggish and their Divine Sense would be obstructed. Even Sword Control would be difficult, and they would freeze to death in a very short time.
For some reason, Jing Jiu seemed unaffected by the bitter cold. He sat cross-legged at the sword's tip, eyes closed, his right index finger pointing ahead.
A faint yet incomparably pure and concentrated sword aura emerged from his fingertip. Stirred by the cold wind, it formed an invisible semicircular shield enclosing him and Bai Zao.
Bai Zao wrapped herself tightly in her Fire-Golden Sparrow cloak, leaving only her eyes exposed.
She watched the figure before her, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. The frost flowers clinging to them did not fall, and the bewilderment in her eyes grew deeper.
In a world this bitterly cold, even the elders of her sect might not last very long.
Jing Jiu was only in the Wuzhang Initial Realm. How could he have brought her here?
What was that finger of his doing? Was it some form of Sword Arts? How could it ward off