After Zhao Huai's sword strike in the sky.
At the end of the straight street, the man in the martial robe was already full of wounds, with numerous sword marks and blood oozing out of his body.
On his chest, there was a golden core, which looked like a shattered porcelain, about to disintegrate in the next second.
"Crown Prince of Yan Country truly lives up to his reputation. Both Immortal and Devil Sects have underestimated you. The descendants of Ancestor Yan Zu have truly risen in your generation, maybe in a hundred years, you can challenge the realm that no one has reached in the past five hundred years."
Even with blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, the man in the martial robe still wore a bitter smile on his face.
"You all came with such great force, it shouldn't be just for the Ancestral Weapon."
Zhao Huai stood opposite him with his sword, speaking lightly.