The cold darkness was like viscous ink.
Swallowing every thread of light and sound.
Fang Qingyu silently took a deep breath.
The air, cold and piercing, seemed to carry the taste of metallic rust.
No need to turn back to clearly sense the fourteen strained and intense auras behind him in the darkness.
The desire to fight, mixed with various emotions, quietly climbed up each person's spine.
Tier Three Martial Saint!
An absolute chasm in the level of life!
Even if the opponent was a flickering candle, even if they held Divine Armament, even if the plan was thorough...
This is a battle that surpasses tiers, especially crossing an entire major realm, challenging a former hero of the Human Race, now a decayed Evil God, the pressure it brings is enough to suffocate any Tier Two Grandmaster.
Last night at the "Cold Crow" Inn, the bit of hope ignited by Fang Qingyu's displayed absolute control over the ruins.
