With each poem, a sword; with each sword, a song!
If this is not Bazhun'an, then what is it?
Saint Xin's expression grew even more grave, knowing that even if it were truly Bazhun'an himself, he couldn't possibly bring the Ancestral God Destruction Tribulation.
Yet the oppressive aura from returning to zero still lingered, even if the distant figure was only vaguely similar, it was enough to disturb one's mind.
"Clang!"
There was no time to think further, as the sound of the sword singing from beyond the heavens stirred.
Two paths of frost coming from the Eastern Region split the heavens and earth, carving a blank space in their midst.
Looking from afar, a figure in a green robe and white robe seemed to appear in the middle, walking leisurely on the clouds, drawing closer, yet leaving no time to discern its face.
With just a wave.
The names of ten thousand spiritual swords, the overwhelming power of famed swords.
