Quick Wear High Martial Arts: The system wants me to be a dog

"break."

Ning Feng spoke softly, yet his voice was like a resounding bell, echoing across the desolate graveyard.

With a hint of pity, but more so with a resolute determination to sever all ties.

"First, release the souls from this chaotic ancient space-time, let the heroic spirits rest in peace, and let the obsession dissipate."

Without further hesitation, he slowly raised his right hand.

The five fingers are slightly closed, not clenched into a fist.

Instead, it was as if the entire epochal graveyard was held in the palm of one's hand.

The primordial power flowed between his fingers, transforming into chaotic arcs of electricity that leaped and emitted a terrifying aura that caused all paths to groan and time and space to tremble.

"broken."

There was no roar, no howl, only a calm yet profound Daoist sound.

The next moment, the concept he had been holding tightly exploded.

Rumble,

Centered on him, a silent collapse, more complete than any explosion, began.

That shattered sky that once witnessed the Dragon Emperor's bloodshed and the mournful cries of ten thousand dragons.

The dark red sky, like shattered glass, first showed countless spiderweb-like cracks, then suddenly collapsed inward.

The ruins of Mount Buzhou, where the Dragon Emperor once stood for the last time, along with the dried-up abyss flowing with golden dragon blood.

As if crushed by an invisible giant hand, it turned into billions of light spots shimmering with dragon runes.

Countless dragon war souls are imprisoned here, repeating the moment of their demise.

At that moment, a dragon roared in liberation.

Their shattered souls coalesced into streaks of golden light, soaring into the sky and tearing through eternal despair.

The dragon's roar carried with it the grief and indignation accumulated over countless years, as well as the relief of final liberation and blessings for those who come after.

"It's over, hahaha, the imprisonment of countless ages has finally ended."

That primeval land was desolate and barren, with lava flowing everywhere.

The figures of those ancient ancestors, struggling to make their way through the desert, are like sand paintings scattered by the wind, beginning to disappear inch by inch from the edges.

The old priest's chanting of the ancient prayer came to an abrupt end.

The "fire seed" beast bone in his hand burst forth with its final, brightest light.

Then, along with his hunched figure, he transformed into sparks of indomitable will.

The roar of the boy "Tiger Fang," filled with resentment and anger, transformed into a final cry of hope.

As the lingering shadows of the entire tribe dissipated, they merged into the wildfire that had spread across the plains.

Humble struggles have been transformed into an eternal monument.

That glimmer of light in despair has now become a torch illuminating the path to liberation.

"Child, we have transcended, but the flame of civilization continues, continues... continues."

……

That magnificent structure, suspended in the clouds, symbolizing medieval wisdom...

"Hundred Schools Academy"

Its "conceptual extinction" that began from the margins was forcibly reversed.

But it's not a recovery, it's a complete release.

The sigh of a Taoist leader, the cold analysis of a mechanical Confucian scholar, the bitter smile of a Legalist sage, the music of an unparalleled woman…

All intelligent life and civilization achievements that are disappearing have not vanished into nothingness.

Instead, they transformed into countless streams of thought containing their own profound meanings, like a reverse meteor shower, breaking free from the shackles of annihilation and rushing into the boundless void.

That brilliant thought, that its brilliance was not in vain, echoed like a final swan song within the crumbling academy, filled with the tragic grandeur of civilization's end and the transcendent brilliance of wisdom.

……

That ancient city, shrouded in a web of rules.

That invisible, oppressive net, under the impact of the primordial chaos power, began to crack under its unbearable weight, breaking apart inch by inch.

The cultivators and mortals in the city were like puppets on strings.

Their formulaic expressions shattered instantly, and their eyes regained their own unique brilliance.

Although only for a moment.

As the boy looked at the shattered standardized tribulation clouds, the last bewilderment in his eyes turned into a knowing smile.

The poet threw away his pen, which turned to ashes, but he laughed heartily, as if he had rediscovered his lost inspiration.

The oppressive atmosphere of the entire era melted away like ice and snow, replaced by a sense of freedom after the shackles were broken.