The storm rises again, ribbons fluttering in the wind.
At a certain moment amid the swirling tide, Fu Qian took off the Eldest Son's Perspective from his face, observing the chaotic Soul Butterflies.
You can only say this is truly the Dragon King's relic; its impact, which was a struggle to withstand when I was just a Demigod, hasn't even left a mark on them.
Though there is some influence still, such as their flying routes suddenly becoming a bit disordered.
Furthermore, belonging to the Dragon King, the previously vague traces have become almost indistinguishable in the blink of an eye.
Luckily, how does that saying go? His majestic figure forever lives in the hearts of old friends—
Attempting to recall what he had just seen, at a certain moment Fu Qian reached out his hand and passed it through the Soul Butterflies, as if caressing an enormous invisible body.
Just with some strange movements, quickly changing from palm to claw, seemingly trying to tear off a piece of flesh.
