The uproar of Jojo's breakthrough was felt across thousands of kilometers. It felt as though the air was constantly being sliced apart by large scythes of regal blades, moving so quickly and violently that they seemed to supercharge the air itself, raising the temperature by steady increments of one or two degrees at a time.
It was the kind of breakthrough that these people had never felt before, it was the kind of breakthrough one might only expect to see on the Eighth Heaven.
Ryu's lip curled into a smirk. It seemed that it had all paid off.
No one but he knew of this power of his Dao, and if he had had a softer temperament in the past, he would have been more like Old Wan, starting off in the First Heaven and diligently raising up a small power of elites that would slowly grow into a wellspring of vibrant, undefeatable talent.
