A terrible aura swept the square like a storm.
The radiance of the glazed tower, the ruthless sword intent, and the bone dragon's deathly oppression fused into such overwhelming power that even ordinary Title Douluo could scarcely breathe under its pressure!
Glowing Feather Douluo, Qian Renxue, and Chen Yi couldn't help but cast their gaze toward the person in green.
Confronted with the last, all-out bet of Ning Fengzhi, Chen Xin, and Gu Rong, they realized the battlefield now belonged to Grand Elder.
The Grand Elder stepped forward, descending calmly from the dais. The night breeze made his plain blue robes flutter. Standing beside the towering pagoda, the gigantic sword, and the ferocious distant bone dragon, his thin silhouette looked so small—threatened to be overwhelmed at any moment.
Yet, lifting his unwavering gaze to the trio at their peak, his eyes abruptly gleamed like stars.
There was no soul power exploding, no spirit rings manifesting—just a spiritual might descending, far beyond any mortal.
Under the moonlit sky, a tremendously intricate, mystical diagram coalesced from the thin air at a visible speed.
This formation wasn't a physical entity, but a condensation of mental energy so dense it gleamed a translucent pale gold, floating high above like a fallen starlit sky, covering half the square.
The Grand Elder exhaled a soft, cold breath, and the golden sigil began to slowly descend, pressing down toward the iconic glazed pagoda, the giant sword, and the bone dragon beneath it.
Even before it landed, a pure spiritual pressure—seemingly from a higher order of life—fell like a collapsing sky.
Though prepared, Ning Fengzhi, Chen Xin, and Gu Rong couldn't hide the tremors in their hearts as that soul-crushing suppression struck them directly—an uncontrollable shudder from the bottom of their souls.
It wasn't a gap in strength, but a gulf in the essence of life itself!
"Perfect timing!!!"
Suppressing the primal terror welling up inside, Sword Douluo Chen Xin released a piercing battle cry.
That roar held the blazing passion and indomitable spirit of a swordsman confronting the summit of the peak!
Both hands moved as if grasping the blade itself.
His ninth, deep black, soul ring erupted with a brilliance never seen before—
"Ninth Soul Skill: Divine and Demonic—Dual Slash!!!"
His massive sword howled, glacial killing intent and ethereal white sword light condensed into intricate sword runes. Upholding a lifetime's pursuit of the sword, he carved through the sky, striking the golden formation raining down overhead.
This was his supreme sword technique—where essence, energy, and spirit became one. Even facing a true "god," his sword would challenge!
Simultaneously, the transformed bone dragon howled with roaring blue soul flame in its sockets. Deathly white light spurting from bare bone, it seemed to change from a mere condensation of soul and bone to a true ancient revenant dragon from the underworld, flinging itself at the celestial formation above. Wherever it passed, space itself was eroded by death, leaving a faint black trail.
Below, Ning Fengzhi stood beneath the glass tower, seemingly driven half-mad.
His hair burst loose, streaming in the wind, his face ghastly pale, blood seeping from his lips—his soul power wrung dry, his meridians pushed to the brink.
Yet his eyes showed no pain—only a wild, feverish ecstasy. Laughing madly, he poured his last ounce of spirit power and blood essence into the radiant, true form of the tower above him.
The seven-colored light blazed with unprecedented intensity, almost as if it burned. The surging auxiliary divine radiance frantically amplified the sword intent of Chen Xin and the bone dragon of Gu Rong.
He knew this was their final flare—but he wanted to burn until the very last, most brilliant instant.
Sword runes embodying a swordsman's lifetime of mastery, and the bone dragon seeming to return from the netherworld, crashed together from left and right into the lowering golden formation.
For a moment, time froze.
The formation... paused slightly.
Tiny ripples spread from the spot where the sword struck, and the place where the dragon rammed even dimpled inward.
It was a split second—hardly perceptible.
Yet this pause and these ripples proved that the last, life-burning strikes of Chen Xin and Gu Rong had not been in vain.
With the peak of human power, they had shaken the barrier to the divine realm!
But—
Only for a moment.
The next instant, the formation trembled, and an even more irresistible, invisible force erupted.
Snap—!!
A horrifying fracturing sound echoed through the night.
High in the sky, the luminous Seven Kill Sword fractured inch by inch from the tip where it struck the formation, cracks spreading in a flash, and then—
BANG!
—the sword split in two, all sword intent vanishing, the shine extinguished!
"Heads held high—!"
Almost simultaneously, the ferocious bone dragon let out a shriek filled with endless pain and rage.
From its head, the giant skeleton shattered segment by segment, the unholy blue soul fire instantly extinguished, and in the frozen silence, a shower of bone fragments rained down.
The sword broke. The bones shattered.
PUFF!
Chen Xin spat blood, his eyes quickly clouding as they cast a last glance at the unchanged celestial diagram. Like a puppet whose strings were cut, his body fell helplessly, a rain of blood trailing down. He crashed upon the square's hard tiles, already lifeless.
Gu Rong left not even a complete corpse. Amid the spray of bone dust, only a few bloodied shards of bone scattered around Chen Xin's remains.
The Grand Elder's face remained impassive. After a moment's reflection, the enigmatic golden formation—having utterly crushed the two Douluos' attacks—vanished, as quietly as if it had never existed.
From the edge of the plaza, amidst rubble and ruin, came the sound of shuffling.
Ning Fengzhi staggered out from beneath a mountain of debris. Clothes torn and bloodied, face bone-pale, his breath ragged—he looked about to collapse.
His disheveled black hair fell over half his face.
He paid no heed to the indifferent crowd high on the platform, or his battered body.
His eyes fixed instead on the broken, bloodied remains nearby, and the scattered white bones.
Step by faltering step, he advanced—each stride seeming to drain what little strength was left, leaving shallow traces of blood on the cold jade floor.
At last, he knelt by Chen Xin's corpse, eyes vacant.
With trembling, dirt- and blood-stained fingers, he gathered up the still-warm, pale bone fragments from the ground, then forced open the lifeless hand of Chen Xin to remove the last broken piece of the Seven Kill Sword.
Ning Fengzhi stood, broken sword in one hand, shattered bone in the other. Slowly he turned, blood and dust covering his face as he looked up at the dais.
In those final moments, his gaze—behind wild hair—was eerily calm as he swept across the faces above: Chen Yi, the Grand Elder, Guangling, Qian Renxue…
At last, his eyes fixed on the gentle and composed visage of the Grand Elder.
There was no hatred, bitterness, nor supplication.
The last Sect Master of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan, in his final moment, transformed all emotion into a quiet sense of acceptance, as if all burdens, calculations, glory, and humiliation vanished along with the broken sword and shattered bone.
He suddenly seemed about to smile, yet it was only a ragged gasp.
Raising the cold, broken blade high, with no hesitation, he drew it resolutely across his own throat.
Spurt—!
Blood exploded. Hot crimson splashed over the cold blade and the broken bone, staining even his chest.
Trembling, Ning Fengzhi stole a last glance at the broken sword and bone in his hands, his lips curling faintly—as if whispering a final farewell. Then he toppled forward, landing upon Chen Xin's fallen body.
Both the broken blade and bone slipped from his powerless hands, disappearing amid the bloodstained dust.
The square lapsed into deathly silence, save for the night wind swirling bone-dust and ashes.
A long time passed.
Qian Renxue slowly descended from the dais, her golden eyes reflecting the tangled bodies below.
She approached the remains of Ning Fengzhi and Chen Xin and stopped.
After a moment's silence, she removed her white cloak, gently spreading it to cover the two figures.
Once done, she stood, bowed her head over the shrouded bodies, eyes closed, right hand on chest in solemn salute.
This was unrelated to hatred or politics.
It was a final farewell from a student to her teachers—praise from the victor to the valiant.
It was a farewell to an era, to three great figures, and to the glory they represented.