One man stood upright.
All around was silent.
The city walls of Donglu City were already densely packed with curious onlookers, unwilling to approach but leaning high to overlook the distant battlefield.
Clearly visible, the armor of thousands from the Nine Sects was as silent as cicadas in winter, their expressions tense, not daring to move recklessly.
The most shocking sight was He Chuang being nailed to the ground by a sword.
His feet on the ground, face-up to the sky, a large sword pierced through his chest, firmly pinned him to the earth, as glaring blood kept flowing.
Opposite them was an elder in plain clothes.
He slowly stepped forward, in the vast arena, only his footsteps echoed, a steady, uninterrupted sound like thunder shaking the eardrums.
This elder, who had once dominated an era, invincible to humanity, now aged with time yet still carried unparalleled confidence in his brows.
Then, he extended a hand.
Whiz!
