His cold face twisted in excruciating pain, and those eyes, always so resolute, gradually grew clouded.
Strangely, once the pain accumulated beyond a certain limit, it quietly crossed the boundaries of perception. He had gone numb, too numb to feel the Immortal Arts blasting into his flesh again and again. Only a heavy, hollow exhaustion seeped outward from his bones.
He tilted his head back and gazed blankly at the sky.
"Junior brother!"
"Junior Brother Zixiao!"
"Junior brother!!"
Those voices came surging from far away, as though across a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers, as though from opposite shores of life and death.
Countless figures appeared in the heavens. He stared at them in a daze, an inexplicable, foolish smile tugging at his lips. Yet immortal blood had already soaked his robes. Drop by drop, it fell ever faster into the wind, scattering who knew where.
But suddenly.
Those figures began vanishing rapidly. He wanted to raise his fingers, but they were already numb and insensate. He wanted to grasp something, but he no longer had the strength.
He seemed to remember. They were the Eternal Cultivators who had died because of him.
Among them were many of his senior brothers and sisters.
Ke Zixiao's aura dissipated, thread by thread. In his clouded eyes, exhaustion overwhelmed everything else.
But he had no regrets.
The Heavenly Dao could not be released. Releasing it would unleash a true "age of demonic chaos," ushering in an era in which all living beings would be culled.
Eternal Antiquity had long been heading toward division. Internal strife and disagreements would only grow worse. They had to be vented outward. At least that would preserve countless Eternal Races and Dao lineages, rather than letting internal conflict tear Heaven and Earth apart until the Ten