Around Zhu Minglang's body, countless Ice Feathers swirled, not soft like down, but tough like shield plates, thick with the chill of frost.
Magma rolled toward him, carrying a terrifying force that could melt through metal, likely unable to withstand such temperatures.
But Zhu Minglang just stood there, his shield feathers fluttering, his robe billowing, without a speck of dust, as if he were in another world, completely separate from the raging Purgatory Flame.
The Purgatory Fire churned, its flame shadows flickering; the Ice Morning White Dragon lithely leapt from Zhu Minglang's shoulder, immediately solidifying a Crystal Ice Carpet beneath it, even every step resulted in more of the carpet appearing.
