Under the Holy Light Peak, the wind and clouds changed color.
The golden mountain protection formation enveloped the entire mountain peak tightly, and the layer of light shield that had been blessed by countless ancestors of the temple for tens of thousands of years was running frantically at the moment, and the golden runes flowed on the surface of the light mask like living creatures, making a humming low sound.
But in front of that black figure, this seemingly indestructible light shield was like paper paste, which made people feel chills in their hearts.
Ning Zhi stood with his hands on his back, his feet stepping into the void, and a black robe rustled in the wind.
He didn’t deliberately release coercion all over his body, but that invisible sense of oppression made the air freeze in a hundred miles.
The ground under his feet cracked silently, the fine cracks spread around him, and the gravel was lifted up by an invisible force, suspended in mid-air, and turned into powder in an instant.
On the Holy Light Peak, the alarm bell rang for a long time.
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