Following the sound of a voice, everyone looked up.

Far away, a youth in black walked slowly over with his hands clasped behind his back. His face was wreathed in a warm smile, and his expression was leisurely and casual, as though he was walking through his own garden. The thousands of people on the battlefield parted like the red sea, forming a passage for him through the carnage. It was as if an immortal had come to visit from the heavens.

The ground was filled with thick, sticky fresh blood that covered one's soles completely. However, the powdered soles of the youth's shoes were not stained at all.

He walked over casually, neither fast nor slow. Looking at the sword wielding soldiers around him and at the river of blood under his feet, he raised his voice and lamented. "Since ancient times, the path of kings is an emotionless one. So what if its kin murdering their own blood? While gazing upon fortresses and mountains picturesque as a painting, their feet are filled with white