The silent night did not last long before it was broken by Xie Tian's irregular, weak, and hurried breathing.
But the silence was merely a facade.
What truly froze this moment in time was the god-like slaughter, both fierce and beautiful, yet brief, and its aftermath.
The outcome was clear.
Xie Tian was gravely injured, on the verge of collapse, evident from his breathing that signified his near death.
Zhou Ding fell from the sky, motionless, with a shocking jagged hole about a foot across in his chest, the flesh around the opening pale, showing no signs of recovery.
But why did this outcome occur? Ninety-nine percent of those present did not understand.
Even Gu Jianfeng, as strong as he was to fight Xie Tian to a draw, was just as baffled.
As for the remaining one percent, the Dao Ancestors seemed to vaguely grasp several key points, but were too shocked to connect them.
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