Lu Buwei turned to look at the approaching smoky fiend as he kept standing on the stalagmite, with a disdainful smile on his face. He waved his hand upward and said, "Please strike, my Goddess!"
Without any prior sign, a sheet of golden light smeared with a faint purple hue sprinkled down quietly from above, wrapping around the dark smoke and melting it like a thin sheet of ice on a stream melting under the warm sunlight of the spring. Before long, it had vanished without a trace, leaving absolutely nothing in the air.
Many cultivators among the crowd who had prepared to do something were stunned. As they watched the golden light slowly dissipating in the air, they felt a coldness rushing from the bottom of their feet up into their head. It made them shudder, taking away all their courage to put up a resistance.
