The black robe stood amid such brightness, with the left half drenched in blood like a cascading waterfall, spilling down to the shoes. Everything hung heavily and damp, while the tattered remains of the garment on the right side were still being whipped about by the turbulent wind. In just a brief moment, the fury of losing an arm had already dissipated. The bizarre painted mask calmly watched him as the Snow Blade was slowly sheathed.
Straight, deep, composed, sharp, a brutal battle had vividly honed his demeanor.
Pei Ye still wanted to try to do more, but his body felt shattered, his Heart Spirit in chaos, and the vibrant sensation in his heart seemed to surge like blood, amidst all collapse, it was not until a familiar bright white suddenly appeared in his field of vision that the youth abruptly relaxed his mind and helplessly plunged into darkness.
At the edge of the sky, a white line, feathery as a cloud, was drawn.
