This world is completely silent.
All the sword cultivators look here with reverent fervor, watching the dust on the ground, the traces left after many gods of this world have burned themselves to death.
Many people are filled with immense confidence.
How does it matter that human factions are chaotic?
How does it matter that human internal struggles are cruel and intense?
As long as an invincible prodigy appears, the Human Race will still be the sovereign of the Endless Starry Sky; these so-called chronic illnesses are but a bit of frost and dew, hardly worth mentioning!
"Seven Kills..."
Jiang Ding's eyes gleam fiercely as he looks into the distance.
There, a Sword-light of Seven Kills is rapidly fleeing into the distance, disappearing in an instant, not daring to initiate the Holy Sword Fight now, having lost confidence.
The Dari Swordsman does not pursue, although he certainly could catch up, for he has excelled in this aspect over the years.
"Your luck is quite good."
