As this sword emerged.
It was illusory, ethereal.
One only felt that before their eyes, billions of strands of Sword Light were rippling.
And as though billions of strands of Sword Light were sinking into their chest.
Breath itself was Sword Intent.
To lift one's head was to face the sword's vast great sun.
Beneath one's feet, what one trod upon was a Void Flying Sword.
Within the Divine Soul, there was a Divine Soul Sword suppressing all.
The entire world, every rule, everything seen, every fantasy, was suffused with the flavor of the sword.
Even the flowing blood itself seemed to be assimilated and fused by Sword Intent.
A very eerie scene: without anyone noticing, at this moment, on the Martial Arts Arena, those full hundred million people—not just the students, but even many of the upper echelons like Song Sheshan, Wang Chenggui and the others—now had dull, lightless eyes, all fallen into the Illusion Realm of the Sword Dream.
