C642 A Ninety Percent Chance of Winning Was No Different from Sending Himself to Death!

Atop a mountain peak within the Demon Refining Range, a young man clad in a white Daoist robe stood with his hands clasped behind him, his gaze piercing into the distance. The breeze tousled his flowing hair, causing his wide robe to rustle.

His eyes, like an immaculate sea of clouds, were deep and ever-changing, unpredictable as the weather itself. Despite his youthful appearance