The scene froze, brimming with a strong sense of imagery.
The extremely cold night, the Black Tide surging.
Yu Chuan's figure cast a scarlet afterimage across the snowy plain, like a burning meteor, unwaveringly crashing into the all-encompassing darkness.
Though his body was like a flickering candle in the wind, nearly depleted.
Yet that scarlet was more glaring than ever, the final boil of his life force being squeezed and burnt.
Three colors interwove in the image.
Scarlet, was the charge alone.
Black, was the overwhelming dark surge.
White, was the snow drifting in the extreme cold of the Eastern Plains.
The three colors intertwined, forming a painting of "decisively facing death".
His footsteps shattered the frozen earth, the blade tore through the cold wind.
The golden gang flame exploded after extreme compression, propelling Yu Chuan's body, transforming into a fire line crossing the Black Tide.
The moment the blade light sliced down.
