Chapter 753

Coming to his senses, Cui Zhao glared at the girl in the gray dress at the other end. She was like a ghost—appearing and vanishing without warning, suddenly blurting out a remark out of nowhere.

“Those who achieve great things do not cling to petty details; let us all look forward to Pei Ye’s swordplay afterward and not dwell on such trivialities,” Cui Zhao said seriously. “The current gossip culture thrives on speculation—we, as a proper association of true enthusiasts, must not follow the tide; we must lead by example!”

Upon hearing this, the Crown Prince and the Seventh Imperial Prince exchanged a glance, then both nodded in agreement.

The Moonlight Legend’s possession of the Sword That Slays Dragons is not without cause—it’s merely a strained one.

This is the rule of the Void Ray, or rather, the rule of the deity Udnos: all mortals, including demigods, must walk the Pilgrimage Path on foot to reach the peak’s summit before they may be granted an audience with the deity—clearly a display of divine arrogance.

Among all those in this world, Song Hui was one of the very few whom Yang Ze felt he could truly approach. So he did not resist; he chatted and drank tea with ease, and together they dug into their bowls of beef noodles with hearty appetite.

All they could do was hope Yang Ze would escape disaster and return to Daye unharmed.

“I didn’t expect this man had already returned to Tian’a Sword Mountain—but he’s merely a Core Sword Disciple… Ziqi, remember: maintain a good relationship with him. It will greatly benefit our Three Pure Ones Sect’s future,” Fu Ji said, frowning to himself, then fixed his gaze on Shen Tu Ziqi with sharp intensity.

In a world that reveres power cultivation, rigidly enforces seniority, and enforces strict hierarchies, a soul once from a modern alternate timeline, his disdain for authority could only bring him disaster. His yearning for freedom could only breed arrogance and prejudice.

A pure-blooded Fire Eagle became a brilliant red aurora, roaring across the sky of the Far North Continent. After more than ten minutes of flight, Wang Mo spotted his destination and guided the eagle to land steadily with a flap of its wings.

Unlike when he had left, far fewer people came to greet Xiao Ran this time—but their weight and status were immeasurably greater.

After being engulfed by Yan Jin’s sea of fire, Death’s Shadow immediately released his soul and fled to the Wasteland—but by then, both major guilds had already begun their total collapse, and reviving now would be suicide.

He was noticeably more muscular than Zhou Wei, his arms thick with muscle, both hands wrapped in white bandages, and his gait steady and grounded—clearly a seasoned martial artist.

In the trade, people often speak of the spirit of fearless courage: not fearing death or danger, giving everything to defend the righteous path, risking one’s life to save the innocent.

It was possible that the moment he conceived this thought, he had already fallen into demonic corruption—though Cao Shengtian did not

know it.

A monstrous creature, over thirty meters long, howled in agony; the Ashen Ones could not contain it, having been blasted away by the terrifying sonic waves.

He had no memory of his mother at all—only knew she left right after giving birth to him; his father was a drunkard who died of cerebral hemorrhage ten years ago, leaving him to be raised by his unreliable second uncle.

Hearing this, Bai Banxian laughed, his expression lightening considerably, as if he had glimpsed the dawn of hope—his smile grew radiant.

“He told me to pass on a message: thank you. He’ll leave Sichuan tonight,” I said.

The physical form of Zai Zhi Master was unlike anything I’d known—upon touching him, my palm was instantly sucked in, as if engulfed by sticky slime, impossible to pull free.

A month later, Zhou Wei sought out Tang Qian on his own initiative; they arranged to meet at a teahouse.

Even if the two-headed ogre was terrifying, it was still chopped to pieces by Long Xiao like slicing vegetables—dismembered, scattered limbs, blood pooling everywhere.

“You wretch!” Hearing this, Empress Fu flew into a rage, instantly venting her fury against Duan Lingxiang instead of Simu Haozhen.

Yet the reason the longsword was gradually abandoned on the battlefield and swiftly replaced by the dao lies in deeper causes.

In the capital, although Aunt Quan did not interfere in their affairs, he always felt uneasy—especially with Ren Ying and Qin Yu still around.

This was no command, nor did it carry the earlier air of self-satisfaction—it carried a note of urgent pleading.

If some scandal erupted before Ning Huan even entered the door, both families would lose face.

A tangible burst of energy erupted from Xu Qingyun; the roots had not yet reached him when they shattered under the force, falling in fragments.

“Could it be that you all believe another apocalypse might yet occur?” The President gazed toward the figures seated there—those Laozi sat like withered trees, utterly lifeless; if they didn’t speak, no one would pay them any heed.

“Not necessarily!” said the man in different attire, his expression cold, radiating an aura of “keep your distance.”

Xu Qingyun was encircled by violet-black lightning; the thunderous power erupting from him instantly engulfed those around him, followed by a few screams—and then silence.

Watching him, Hao Junmo gritted his teeth, shook his arm, and charged forward with a swinging fist.

“Aren’t you going in?” The man in the driver’s seat raised an eyebrow, his slightly upturned lips brimming with amusement.

Yun City’s mountains are grand, Yun City’s waters are clear; before such landscapes, her petty heartbreak meant nothing at all.