The martial stage, constructed from large cliff stones, was etched with the marks of time—ancient and mottled. It was a place where many Saint Master Level figures had fallen.
The blood of peerless experts had long since dried, their bones turned to dust, yet an intense killing intent still permeated the air. This was a true Ancient Battlefield.
This old man moved like a wandering ghost, silent and traceless. He pressed a palm forward, and it was as if the Ghost Lord himself had descended upon the world. A sinister wind howled, thick with Death Qi.
The Peacock King felt a chill run down his spine. Sensing immense danger, he shot sideways for over a thousand zhang, barely evading the strike by a hair's breadth.
SMACK!
The old man's strike had seemed casual, even ordinary. Yet, where his palm had passed, a black hole was seared into the void—an unhealing wound in space that began to devour everything.
BANG!
