A gentle breeze stirred.
On the vast square, the smell of blood was overwhelming, even the pouring rain couldn't wash it away quickly.
Soon, the dust in the air began to float and sink, swaying uncertainly.
Rustle!
Chen Yang's right hand hung down, drops of blood trickling to the ground.
He rarely spoke.
Majestic and upright.
Though the youthful days had long passed, he was still the Chen Yang of old, daring to kill and break through with charisma and awe-inspiring might, akin to a War God.
Compared to his past in the secular world, where he commanded millions of Martial Guards, now even alone at Yuning Mountain, he wouldn't hesitate to kill when necessary.
Countless people on the scene gazed at him from afar, hearts trembling, filled with apprehension.
If he survived today, given time, how much stronger would he become in the future?
He is too strong!
