Faint words fluttered in the wind, endlessly drifting away.
They seemed so tranquil, interspersed with gentle sighs.
The monk in black robes was pale, coughing up blood in great gouts, the divine spark between his brows long ago captured by the lantern.
The extinguishing of the Life Lantern was a heavy blow to his soul, and at this moment, he could only struggle to support himself, looking towards Mo Ke, apparently still unclear on the true meaning of her words.
Yet, for some reason, a vague unease had taken root deep in his heart. He felt something was amiss, as if the situation might reverse.
But bafflingly, he did not know how the other might turn the tides, as everything had already settled into dust.
With the descent of the Ming River realm, and a Demon Lord at that, even the Incense Sect would seem insignificant as dust in front of the Demon Lord, easily crushed to powder.
