Chen Ping did not reply, his expression calm and unruffled.
But deep down, he was burdened with endless sorrow and unwillingness.
Drawing his hand, the Dragon-Slaying Sword gleamed coldly, its purple chaotic flames blazing fiercely.
Going against the tide, facing the pressure of the Golden Immortal, refusing to bow or kneel.
Jiang Xuelan stood side by side, the Ice God Sword firmly in his hand.
His body was protected by ice-blue divine light, his face pale and weak.
His hand gripping the sword was as steady as a rock, his eyes resolute—life and death together, never leaving or abandoning him.
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