The Nine Flying Swords returned to the Infinite Treasury one after another. Song Yan's gaze never lingered on Shen Yu's corpse or the other two helpers of the Qin Lineage.
The incomparably sharp presence around him swiftly receded, as though it had never appeared.
He raised his eyes beyond the surging water curtain of the Great River Mausoleum Formation, toward the sky amid the clouds overhead, and frowned slightly.
That was the domain of Golden Core cultivators.
Everyone understood that high above them lay the battlefield that would truly decide whether the countless people below lived or died.
Zhang Cheng's beard and hair bristled. His formerly stooped body was now taut, and his hands ceaselessly formed method formulas, drawing upon heaven and earth spiritual Qi.
The sword formation formed by nine flying swords clashed with the Demonic Qi and blood flames with tremendous force.
Yet Song Yan's face was filled with worry.
To others, Senior Zhang Cheng and Qin Yang appeared evenly matched, locked in a stalemate. But beneath his Void-Viewing Sword Eye, he saw far more clearly than anyone else.
Every hand seal Zhang Cheng formed, every eruption of sword Qi, carried a sense of sluggishness.
The air of twilight and signs of decline had long since become impossible to conceal.
His vitality was also teetering on the brink.
After the River and Sky Night Banquet, Zhang Cheng had told him frankly that, at over five hundred years old, even a Golden Core cultivator was nearing the end of his lifespan and had little time remaining.
His source spiritual power was depleted, and his cultivation had already entered a low ebb.
Under the present circumstances, unleashing his full strength to fight another Golden Core cultivator to the death was no different from hastening his own demise.
By contrast, Qin