The Sword Flood Dragon weaved through the clouds, riding the wind and mist.
A biting wind whistled past, causing his robes to billow.
Fang Yang stood atop the flood dragon's head with one hand clasped behind his back, silently guiding its path.
He was now nearly two-thirds of the way through his journey, progressing much faster than anticipated.
In just a few more days, he would reach Tongtian Peak and fulfill his first lingering regret.
It was worth noting that ever since he had defeated the two Great Saint incarnations, the number of people spying on his movements had dwindled.
Over the past few days, however, that faint sense of being watched had been gradually intensifying.
This could only mean one thing: a new storm was brewing.
「Half a day later.」
The silver Sword Flood Dragon gradually slowed down.
Fang Yang narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distance.
RUMBLE—
A sound like the heavens themselves were cracking apart rang out.
