Three years have passed.
At the peak of Stone Spring Mountain, the ancestral land of the Pan Sword Sect.
Black clouds roiled, where purple lightning flashed like dragons darting and red fire surged like a flowing sunset. With each bolt of lightning and fire crashing down, the mountain trembled with a deafening roar.
Strangely, during the thunder's intervals, the faint roar of dragons and low growl of tigers echoed, as if resonating with Heaven and Earth.
A figure in white stood gracefully atop the highest green stone of the peak, his garment fluttering loudly in the fierce wind but remaining untouched by any speck of dust.
There was no earth-shattering aura emanating from him, only countless strands of sword light floating within a radius of three feet, resembling fireflies on a summer night.
Whenever the purple lightning wrapped in red fire struck down, those sword lights would suddenly coalesce.
