"You... seek death?"
A question, so level it bordered on indifference, suddenly washed over this seething, chaotic, collapsing world.
In an instant—
The wind stopped.
The turbulent, shattered space solidified.
The Dragon Monarch's colossal, writhing body froze mid-torment.
The aftershocks of the clash of Divine Techniques between the True Monarchs and Bodhisattvas lingered in mid-air, flickering in and out of existence.
The illusory figure standing with a sword was aloof and ethereal, as if it might disperse with the wind at any moment.
Yet it was this seemingly fragile figure.
That now exuded a terrifying pressure—purer, more fundamental, and more dreadful than that of the World Honored One who sat upon the golden lotus, one hand pointing to the sky and the other touching the earth!
Under the questioning of this figure, the image of the World Honored One, its features always obscured behind a soft halo, showed a distinct change for the first time.
