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Countless cosmoses, battlefields of myriad clans.
Even thunder echoed the same.
Doesn't that mean there are innumerable worlds just like theirs, all prepared for the Genius War?
And why is there only one divine spirit in their world?
Over so many years, not a single other has been born?
Is it that they cannot, or is it a restriction?
Thinking this, the Blue Sword Emperor's face turned ugly, truly ugly, followed by silence.
"Blue Sword Emperor, as an existence at the peak of the Twelfth Realm standing on the summit of the mundane world, to be shaken by the other's mere words, have you lost your composure?" a man dressed in a large red robe said indifferently, "What is this cosmos, these ten thousand clans to us? What matters is slaying this youngster and upholding the supreme majesty of the Holy Dynasty."
