He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

The clone did not deny it.

Before he could finish speaking, his clone moved.

Unlike Zhao Duo's "disappearance" just now, the clone did not disappear.

He simply lifts his foot, takes a step, and lands his foot; every step is clearly visible, and every movement is so slow that it can be tracked with the eyes.

But Zhao Duo found himself unable to escape.

Every step the clone takes lands precisely at the intersection of all his dodge paths—he'll be stepped on if he moves left, he'll be stepped on if he moves right, he'll be stepped on if he moves backward, and he'll be stepped on if he stands still.

It's like someone spending a long time weaving a net, only to find that the other person was already standing in the center of the net when they were weaving the very first thread.

Zhao Duo did not dodge.

He took a deep breath, his chest bulging like a bellows, and then exhaled sharply.

What came out was not air, but a cloud of grayish-white mist.

The mist spewed from his mouth, growing rapidly with the wind, and in the blink of an eye, it spread throughout the entire courtyard, engulfing his clone.

Compared to the cold of this fog, the winter night in Youzhou City felt like spring.

It was so cold that even the air seemed frozen—wherever the fog passed, a layer of white frost formed on the surface of the blue bricks, ice crystals condensed in the cracks of the courtyard wall, and the flame of the oil lamp on the threshold flickered violently and went out.

He learned this from a thousand-year-old frost behemoth in a post-apocalyptic world covered in extreme cold.

All living things in the fog will be frozen from the inside out, their vital energy will stagnate, their blood will turn to ice, and even their thoughts will become sluggish in the absolute low temperature.

Zhao Duo stood outside the fog, his right hand clenched loosely, and a long sword made entirely of ice took shape in his palm.

The blade was as clear as crystal, the edge so thin it was almost invisible, and a wisp of grayish-white mist was sealed inside the spine, like a snake frozen in amber.

He didn't wait for the fog to dissipate and rushed straight in.

The cold mist is his domain.

In this realm, his speed, strength, and perception will be greatly enhanced, while his opponents will be suppressed in every way.

In several worlds, he used this move to kill eleven opponents whose cultivation was above his own.

The blade sliced ​​through the mist, striking the spot where the clone stood.

It didn't work out.

The blade sliced ​​through an afterimage—or rather, it wasn't even an afterimage: the clone wasn't actually standing there; it was just a visual illusion created by the flow of mist.

Zhao Duo did not retract his sword strike. With a flick of his wrist, the blade slashed horizontally, drawing an arc of ice crystals in the mist.

Another disappointment.

His senses spread to their maximum extent in the cold mist, like a spider web spread out, transmitting back even the slightest vibration.

But there was nothing on the spiderweb except himself.

The clone seemed to have vanished into thin air.

A thin layer of sweat appeared on Zhao Duo's forehead. The sweat beads froze into ice particles the moment they left his skin and stuck to his eyebrows.

He began to retreat, taking small steps, making sure each step was firmly planted before moving on to the next. He held the knife horizontally in front of him, the tip slightly upturned, a starting stance that combined offense and defense.

Then he saw the light.

A glimmer of golden light appeared deep within the mist.

It was very small, like the brightness of a candle hidden behind gauze.

But the fog began to dissipate—not blown away, but dispersed.

Wherever the golden light reached, the gray-white mist retreated automatically as if it had encountered a natural enemy; the slower-retreating parts simply melted away, leaving not even a trace of moisture.

The clone emerged from the light, its body enveloped in a faint golden halo.

The halo is very thin, adhering to the skin's surface like a layer of transparent gold gauze.

The cold mist collided with this halo of light and vanished silently without even causing a ripple.

The power of faith protects against all evil.

Zhao Duo's pupils shrank to the size of pinpoints.

He raised the knife above his head, gripped the hilt with both hands, and poured all the power of his cold marrow into the blade.

The ice crystals on the blade began to grow wildly, from three feet to five feet, and from five feet to seven feet.

The wisp of grayish-white mist broke free from the seal on the blade's spine, coiling around the blade and emitting a sharp cry, like some living thing that had been trapped for too long finally breaking free of its shackles.

He slashed down with a single stroke.

There was no flash of sword light, no sword aura, only a line—an extremely thin, grayish-white line extending from the top of Zhao Duo's head to the top of his clone's head.

Wherever the line passed, the air froze into a vertical icicle, the ground froze into a straight ice groove, the courtyard wall froze into an ice wall, and the locust tree outside the wall froze into an ice tree.

This was Zhao Duo's strongest strike.

The clone extends two fingers.

Bring your index and middle fingers together and raise them upwards.

Golden light gathered at the fingertips, condensing into a thin film of light.

The blade met the fingertip.

The moment the gray-white line touched the golden film, it broke.

Like an ice needle falling into a boiling oil pot, it begins to disintegrate from the point of contact, turning into nothingness inch by inch.

The ice crystals on the blade began to crack, and the cracks spread from the tip of the blade to the handle. For every inch that the cracks spread, a piece of ice crystal would break off and turn into water vapor before it even hit the ground.

The wisp of grayish-white mist on the blade's spine let out a final mournful cry before dissipating in the golden light.

Zhao Duo's hands, gripping the knife, split open at the base of his thumbs, and before the blood could flow out, it was frozen into ice shards by the remaining cold air.

He loosened his grip on the knife handle and staggered backward, his back smashing through the courtyard wall, sending shards of stone and ice flying everywhere.

He didn't stop, using the recoil from the impact to continue retreating, passing through the hole in the wall, through the icy branches of the locust tree, through the alley, and back onto the street.

The clone retracted its finger and took a step to follow.

Zhao Duo steadied himself on the street, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

As he watched the golden figure emerge from the hole in the wall, the arrogance in his eyes finally vanished, replaced by a deep sense of apprehension.

He took a deep breath, calming the surging air in his chest, and then did something that made his clone raise an eyebrow slightly—he took out a jade pendant from his pocket and crushed it.

The moment the jade pendant shattered, a pale blue light shield spread out from the crack, enveloping Zhao Duo completely.

Zhao Duo stood in the center of the light shield, his expression relaxing somewhat.

This was his trump card for survival, similar to an instant teleportation talisman, which could instantly transport him thousands of miles away.

The clone walked to the light shield and pressed it.

The moment the palm touched the light shield, the wriggling runes scattered like mice encountering a cat.

The clone's hand remained unchanged.

Her pale golden skin was completely intact, without even a slight fading in color.

On the contrary, those runes became unstable after coming into contact with the power of faith.

The clone's five fingers came together and gently clenched.

He crushed the light shield like an egg.

Zhao Duo's face turned completely pale.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran.

He ran towards the Iron Sword Sect—his room contained a teleportation array he had created that could transport him to a safe house three thousand miles away.

He can live as long as he can get back to that room.

The clone watched his retreating figure but did not chase after him.

He raised his right hand, his index finger drawing an arc in the air.

The arc started at his own feet and ended at Zhao Duo's back.

The golden streak of light lingered in the air for a moment before disappearing.

Zhao Duo's body froze in mid-air.

He suddenly realized that he could no longer feel the true energy in his dantian.

He looked down at his chest—no wounds, no bloodstains, nothing unusual.

However, his entire cultivation, his divine martial arts aura, and all the power he had accumulated in the thirty-three worlds seemed to have been completely drained from his body.

He lost his sense of them, like someone who suddenly forgot that he could breathe.