The elders of the Eight Sects were deeply saddened.
In his memory, Zhao Wuji was someone who liked to argue.
He could argue until his face turned red and his neck swelled for a slight difference in Sword Dao.
He could run to the gates of another sect and curse bluntly if his disciples were wronged.
Not many people liked him.
At the Nine-Sect elders' gatherings, he was mostly alone.
He stood there, lonely, wiping his sword by himself.
If someone talked to him, he would endlessly chatter until it turned into a quarrel, ending in displeasure.
Now.
He was still alone.
Walking backwards alone, brandishing his sword alone, charging towards a formidable enemy he knew he couldn't defeat.
Like a lone swordsman.
Walking his own path, interpreting his own Sword Dao.
"Let's go!"
"Don't let him die in vain!"
An elder, holding back tears, turned decisively.
The remaining elders, choking back tears, turned to escape towards the canyon's exit.
At this moment, Zhao Wuji.
