A towering figure stood atop the city wall.
There was no wind.
In the primordial chaos void, there was no wind to speak of. Yet within thirty feet of that figure, the Primordial Chaos Purple Qi surging across hundreds of millions of miles froze in place, as though it had encountered something it dared not look upon. It quietly drew back, not daring to come any closer.
It was a silent reverence.
Not brought about by pressure, not compelled by Dao Principles, but simply by-his very existence.
His standing there was already enough.
He was exceedingly tall, yet just how tall was impossible to say.
Measured by the scale of the Myriad Heavens and Worlds, perhaps no answer could be reached-because the eyes told you he was merely a human figure, while the soul trembled and said that he was plainly a mountain, a sea, an entire heaven and earth.
He wore a black robe, without embroidery or patterns, without gold or ornament.
Yet the curve of that falling robe seemed to gather the entire primordial chaos void within its hem. With the slightest movement, currents silently rolled, pushing the shattered remnants of worlds that had drifted through countless ancient epochs farther away without a sound.
He did not speak, did not move, and did not even direct his gaze anywhere.
Yet even so, the surrounding void slowly revolved around him as its axis.
His face.
If anything in this world should not be seen clearly, it was his face.
Not because it was blurred, nor because it was concealed. Quite the opposite-that face was so clear it made the heart tremble.
Its chiseled contours were sharply defined, as though carved by the very axe that had cleaved open heaven. Every line was a Great Dao, every detail a law,