บท 1212: Withering Flame Demon Magic True Self Dao

The night was as black as ink, stars twinkling, and the bright moon hung high in the sky. Its pure light spilled onto the earth, but when it fell upon the long street, it turned purple, as if draping a thin layer of purple gauze over the area.

Outside the purple gauze, cold winds swept through, and the rustling of withered branches and leaves echoed faintly. Distant shadows of trees swayed as if whispering secrets to the night.

Within the purple gauze, a chilling wind howled, chasing after a figure retreating rapidly as if imbued with the momentum of the advantaged side, challenging the darkness.

The ground of the long street cracked as the retreating figure landed, leaving two long marks on the ground. Several dozen feet away, they steadied themselves with one hand pressed against the ground.