Glazed Pure Land.
Within the Moonlight Glaze Hall.
Master Xuan Du sat cross-legged at the top, with Luo Chen and Qing Shuang seated on either side, and another sixteen monks with weakened breaths and blood-stained robes seated below in the hall.
Luo Chen could feel the intense gaze of hatred from behind, seemingly wanting to pierce through him.
This battle, with the full force of the Hanging Temple coming down on them, was truly a display of all its elites.
Yet, after the battle, more than half of the thirty-six high monks perished beneath his sword, and the most talented head of the Prajna Hall also died at the hands of Qing Shuang.
To say there was no hatred would be too naive.
But Luo Chen felt no shame.
He had undertaken a task from someone, fulfilling their wishes with dedication, regardless of right or wrong.
At the top.
