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Everyone assumed that Ye Wuming had taken Zhao Changhe to the so-called Zhao Family Village, a secret place known only to the two of them.
In truth, she had not.
No matter the method used for traversal, the basic principle was the same: the farther the destination, the greater the toll. At a time like this, Ye Wuming would not waste energy on a round trip all the way to Earth. If her strength was depleted and she could not beat him, then what?
Their hands clasped tightly, and their hearts aligned. With perfect synchronicity, they activated their divine arts.
In the blink of an eye, they appeared in a desolate wilderness under a dark and moonless sky, where corpses littered the ground and discarded weapons lay scattered like fallen leaves.
Zhao Changhe stared blankly at the scene, wordless for a long while.
This was the place from his dream.
A chaotic war had once raged here, countless factions clashed, and the dead piled high. In that dream, he had stood amidst the carnage, unable to tell friend from foe, grabbing whatever weapon lay nearest to fend off attacks from all sides.
He had chosen a broad saber back then as its sweeping arcs kept enemies at bay with sheer force. That connection to the broad saber had lasted ever since. Now, Dragon Bird trembled with excitement in his hand, its edge still stained with the blood drawn from Luo Chuan’s neck. The blood of the Other Shore soaked its edge, imbuing it with a faint, divine glow.
The years passed, but the setting remained unchanged. The scent of the woman behind him was still as intoxicating as ever.
Of course, this scene was not real. Back then, it had been a dream. Ye Wuming had invaded his spiritual sea and constructed this battlefield within it. The so-called “countless factions” were merely manifestations of various entry-level martial paths, designed to assess the chosen...
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