Xia Ji sat on the head of the paper crane.
Flying on the white clouds.
There were no flying swords or magic tools by his side, but everything in the world was his weapon.
Beneath his feet, the mountains and rivers were very far away.
And what he had to do in each sect was very simple.
He asked, " Where is God? " Then, he would kill those who should be killed and leave those who shouldn't be killed.
He did not know if he had killed the wrong person, but as long as he entered the Rolling Red Dust Tribulation, it did not matter if he had killed the right person or not. In essence, he was killing.
Killing itself was definitely not good. The key was what kind of world it would bring after killing.
When he closed his eyes, the glorious and brilliant history of creation would appear in his mind, along with Little Su's painful cries, Miao Miao's escape, and many other disasters caused by the gods.
That was enough…
Kill him.
Kill.
Kill.
