The long night is bleak, and the dark moon washes clean.
Sword Master Yu crawled out from the deep pit in a disheveled state, his boots having burst and been lost at some unknown time.
His feet were covered in wet mud and grass clippings, and his meticulously worn sword robe became wrinkled and soaked by rain.
With his hair disheveled, he seemed rather downtrodden; the black and red sword robe no longer showed a hint of nobility, the noble color of the Qilin on his chest was tarnished with black mud, dirty and unsightly.
The respectable image of the Sword Master at this moment appeared worse than a beggar.
The spirit platform on his brow was uncontrollably forced open by a power, the purple aura accumulated in the Divine Mansion over centuries spilled out like a lake.
This was also the foundation of Sword Master Yu's nearly thousand-year cultivation.
Just after crawling out of the massive pit in the ground, a dark cloud-like floating figure appeared before him.
