The wind howled and the thunder roared. The intense sword intent from the fight tore everything apart as easily as crushing dry weeds and smashing rotten wood.
The crowd on the ground looked up at the young man. He had become a legend.
"That is Darren..."
"The genius of this world, at least within our range of cognition."
"Just look at him. Looks like God played favorites and showered him with blessings. How dazzling!"
Murmuring sounds dissipated in the wind.
Above the sky, Simon's Void Divine Fist was smashed into pieces. All of a sudden, his pupils dilated and darkened. His body disappeared into thin air as if it had never existed, as if he were merely sand blown away by the wind, and just like that, he was gone.
The crowd went mute for a while. Then they roared loudly in sorrow and rage.
They screamed at Darren like a roaring ocean with a wild current.
Darren instantly fell from above the moment his sword intent vanished. His face was as pale as a sheet, and grey film covered his eyes. At the sight of his face, the crowd's cheers turned into worry and fear.
Everyone could see that he was clearly on the brink of death. He had consumed all his blood essence after he was injured seriously, and now it seemed like there was nothing anyone could do.
The crowd ran to catch him when they saw his figure falling.
The people could not help but sob at the sight of his pale face. He was their savior, the legendary figure they knew, and there was a big chance they might lose him.
"No, please, please do not die..."
Everyone prayed from the bottom of their hearts.
"Take me to him," Michael moved his dry mouth and said to Wayne softly.
Michael's tears trickled down his cheek when he cast his eyes upon Darren and saw what he looked like.
"Let us try to save his life, Wayne." Michael pleaded in a very weak voice.
"I will do my best to save his life even if you do not demand it. You and I have known each other for life and I would like for us to continue our brotherhood in the Netherworld."
The two old men stopped moaning and smiled at each other, "To die for the unparalleled genius is to die a worthy death."
"Burn! Burn our corrupted bodies into the spring of life to the boy's rescue!"
Runes flashed, one after another, as Wayne muttered his words. A green flame full of the energy of life came out of the old men's bodies and into Darren's body.
Darren's cheeks gradually became rosy as the two old men's bodies faded into ashes. His broken body recovered quickly and a beam of light once again shone at the deep darkness in his soul.
He had come back from the brink of death.
But by then, the two old men had vanished completely. They had traded their lives for his.
The crowd fell upon their knees in tribute to the two masters.
The torrential rain stopped, and a cold raindrop fell on Darren's face, waking him up.
Darren opened his eyes as if he was only waking up from a dream. He looked at the bright world curiously with tears in his eyes. It was as if he had been born again.
"Darren, it is good to have you back. It is, however, the two masters have left us forever," Thomas said, choking as he tried to hold back his sobs. No matter what he did though, he could not stop the tears from falling from his eyes.
"I see," Darren replied in a sad and hoarse voice. He stood up and knelt like the others. "Farewell to you, masters. I swear to take you back from the Netherland if there is one. God bless your souls and may you rest in peace."
Three Wonder Realm warriors and one rule cultivator died in this combat. What a tragedy.
But what about the initiator of this combat?
The crowd turned its attention and glared furiously at the two people who had brought about their suffering. They had collapsed on the ground from the strength of Darren's sword intent.
"Darren, it is time for you to deal with the two beasts. They are yours now. You can do whatever you want with them," Elder Clark commented.
As if on cue, a beam of golden light flashed in the sky, and two ancient golden rolls appeared from high above.
"Oh, look! The Talent Roll of this era!"
Closely inscribed on the rolls were the names of talents of their time, men of unsurpassed excellence.
"Look! Darren is in the eighteenth place on the roll!" an elder exclaimed loudly.
But soon Darren's name quickly moved downwards on the roll.
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