In the extremely cold northern mountain, in the very cold illusory Temple, Fan Xian walked toward the building without looking back at all. He once again crashed into the being's body. In this world covered by white snow, countless dazzling spots of light erupted.
No one noticed that under his winter coat his back was soaked through. Even in such cold weather, sweat seeped out of his body and wet all of his inner clothing. His expression remained calm. No one knew how much courage and determination he pulled together in the instant before he charged through the being's body.
Fan Xian did not know just what kind of unfathomable strength the Temple had, or if, as the Emperor and Uncle Wu Zhu said, it had already fallen to some extent. However, Uncle Wu Zhu was clearly lost in this temple. This made him feel an instinctive wariness toward the Temple, but he still had to take a gamble.
