The Eternal God of Xuanhuang War Chronicles

Cangxuan Continent, Northern Territory, Qingliang Mountain. The Qingliang Mountain, which stretches thousands of miles across the border of the Northern Territory, is steep and steep, shrouded in clouds and mist all year round. The mountain tops are covered with snow and the mountain streams are cold. It is a desperate situation in the eyes of mortals and a barbaric place in the eyes of monks. Deep in the mountains, on a solitary peak called Hanya, the cold wind was like a knife, blowing on the rocks and making a whining sound, like the roar of an ancient giant beast. On the cliff, a simple stone house was built against the mountain. There was no vegetation around the stone house, only hard black stones and the howling cold wind. In the open space in front of the stone house, a thin young man's figure was bare-chested, facing the biting cold wind, waving a rusty iron sword in his hand over and over again. The young man was about fifteen or sixteen years old, with a slim build, but had a pair of exceptionally bright eyes, like stars in a cold night, deep and firm. His skin shows a healthy bronze color, and every time he swings the sword, the muscles on his body will tighten up, and the lines are smooth. Although he is thin, he contains strength far beyond that of his peers. The cold wind whipped up the snow foam and hit his body, leaving tiny red marks, but he seemed to be unconscious, his eyes focused, and the iron sword in his hand cut through the air, making a dull sound of breaking wind.