Watching the Original Demon's domain swallow the imperial city whole, Sui Zheng felt his soul trembling on the verge of collapse. The sky had darkened into a roiling sea of corruption, and even the laws of heaven screamed in protest. Every instinct in his body begged him to flee, to run as far as possible from this nightmare.

Yet he didn't move.

His legs felt rooted to the ground as his gaze locked onto the calm figure beside him.

The All-Seeing Immortal stood there as though the apocalyptic domain was nothing more than a passing breeze. Demonic pressure capable of crushing kingdoms washed over them again and again, yet it parted around him unnaturally, refusing to touch his body.

"S-Seniors…" Sui Zheng finally choked out, his voice hoarse with fear. His fists clenched until his nails bit into his palms. "Please… please reconsider!"

He wasn't ignorant. He knew the reputation of the All-Seeing Immortal, knew the legends surrounding his insight and unfathomable perception. But this was no ordinary calamity.

This was an Original Demon.

A being born from Creation Qi itself.

No matter how powerful one was, facing such an existence head-on was courting annihilation.

The All-Seeing Immortal didn't answer immediately. He merely shook his head slowly, as if amused by Sui Zheng's desperation, his gaze fixed calmly on the sea of corruption ahead. The suffocating demonic domain rolled past him without effect, unable to even stir his robes.

Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his lips lifted.

"Keke…" A low chuckle escaped him, carrying an odd note of satisfaction. "So You finally arrived."

Sui Zheng froze.

Who?

Before he could even ask what that meant, the All-Seeing Immortal continued, his tone light yet layered with certainty.

"Indeed, I was not wrong." His eyes gleamed faintly. "How could you abandon your precious disciples so easily?"

His gaze sharpened, filled with anticipation rather than concern.

"Come now," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "Let me see how you deal with this calamity, Master of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo."

For all that he already knew of Wang Chen's terrifying capabilities, this moment was different. Theory, speculation, even foresight meant little when weighed against an Original Demon. What happened next would settle everything.

Sui Zheng, still trembling, followed the immortal's line of sight. His breath caught in his throat.

At the far edge of the corrupted horizon, where demonic clouds churned like a wounded sky, a lone figure appeared.

Step by step, he walked forward.

No divine radiance exploded outward. No overwhelming pressure announced his arrival. And yet, with each footfall, the demonic fog recoiled subtly, as if instinctively making way.

It was Wang Chen.

He wore simple white robes, unadorned and unstained, fluttering gently in the poisonous wind. His expression was calm—so calm it bordered on indifference—as though the hellscape before him was nothing more than an inconvenience.

The moment he appeared, it became impossible to look away.

Not because of arrogance.

Not because of brute force.

But because his presence carried an undeniable finality.

Even the Original Demon's domain seemed to hesitate, its expansion stalling for the briefest instant—as though the world itself had recognized something it was never meant to face.

Wang Chen did not spare even a glance for the two figures observing him from afar. Their reactions, their expectations, their calculations—none of it mattered. His attention was fixed entirely on the heart of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo, on the land he had claimed, the disciples he had accepted, and the suffering unfolding before his eyes.

Then, amid the howling demonic winds and the shrieks of corrupted existence, a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

"I have truly failed as a Master…"

His voice was neither loud nor sharp, yet the moment the words left his mouth, they seemed to carry an indescribable weight. They rolled across the battlefield like a slow, inevitable tide, pressing down on heaven and earth alike.

"While I am still alive and breathing," he continued softly, "my disciples suffer such a miserable fate."

The demonic cries faltered.

Even the oppressive domain of the Original Demon trembled, as though something fundamental had been disturbed.

"Has the world," Wang Chen asked calmly, almost thoughtfully, "completely forgotten my name?"

Those plain words struck harder than any divine technique. They echoed through the ruined city, reverberated through the corrupted skies, and sank deep into the hearts of everyone who heard them. It was not arrogance. It was not a threat. It was the lament of someone who had realized, far too late, that restraint had only invited calamity.

Step by step, Wang Chen advanced.

Each movement was unhurried, yet with every footfall, the demonic domain recoiled ever so slightly, as if instinctively retreating. His gaze swept across the dojo grounds, taking in the cracked earth, the twisted roots of the Bodhi Tree, the blood-stained formations barely holding together.

And then he saw them.

His disciples.

For the first time since stepping onto this path, a genuine ache bloomed in Wang Chen's chest. It was not anger, nor fear, but something far heavier. Regret.

He had thought himself cautious. He had believed that watching from behind, guiding from the shadows, was enough. Yet once again, his disciples had paid the price.

First the Blood Fang Gang.

Now the Original Demon.

"I truly am a poor teacher," he murmured, the words meant for no one but himself.

Lin Huang and Li Mei, both standing on the brink of collapse, felt as if an invisible hand had seized their hearts. Their already pale faces drained of the last trace of color as that familiar presence washed over them.

"Master…" Lin Huang whispered hoarsely.

The sensation was unmistakable. He had felt it before—back when despair had seemed absolute, back when survival itself had been uncertain. His hands trembled as memories surged, his sword qi nearly destabilizing from the emotional shock alone.

Li Mei's vision blurred. Her lips parted, but no words came out. The moment Wang Chen appeared, the pressure crushing her soul intensified rather than eased, as though her body instinctively realized just how close she was to collapse now that she no longer needed to endure alone.

Zhao Yufei, on the other hand, felt something entirely different.

Hope.

"Grand Master…" she breathed, her voice trembling as light flickered weakly back into her eyes. Even in the face of the Original Demon's overwhelming presence, Wang Chen's arrival ignited something she had thought extinguished forever.

Nearby, Rong Luo and Young Master Yun could barely remain standing. Their bodies screamed in protest, their cultivation bases eroded by the demon's domain. Unlike Zhao Yufei, neither of them felt relief.

Only dread.

They knew Wang Chen was powerful—terrifyingly so. But this was no ordinary enemy, no cultivator to be outmatched or suppressed. This was a world-ending existence, a being born alongside creation itself.

Against something like that, what difference could even Wang Chen make?

Faced with such terror, they could only grit their teeth and wait, resigned to whatever fate awaited them—unaware that, in that very moment, the man they doubted had already made a decision.

And the world was about to remember his name.

The phantom of the Original Demon tilted its immense head, layers of shadow folding and unfolding across its indistinct features. Those abyssal eyes, vast enough to swallow stars, fixed themselves on Wang Chen with something dangerously close to curiosity.

"Hmm… what an interesting human," the Demon murmured, its voice echoing like stone grinding against the bones of the world. "I cannot see your fate."

A pause followed. The domain trembled, as if reality itself leaned in to listen.

"Who are you?"

Against that overwhelming presence, Wang Chen looked absurdly small. A lone figure in plain white robes, standing beneath a sky warped by demonic will. And yet, he did not bow. He did not retreat. He did not even tense.

From afar, Demon Queen Zi Han's fingers tightened within her sleeves. Her aura flared almost imperceptibly as she calculated distances and escape vectors. If this went wrong—if even Wang Chen failed—she would drag him away by force the moment the opportunity appeared. Pride be damned. Survival came first.

But Wang Chen seemed utterly unconcerned.

He didn't even acknowledge the Original Demon's question.

Instead, he turned his back on it.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked toward his disciples. His gaze softened as it passed over Lin Huang's trembling stance, Li Mei's blood-streaked lips, Zhao Yufei's pale yet stubborn face. He examined their auras, traced the fractures in their foundations, felt the lingering corruption clawing at the edges of their lives.

A faint, weary smile tugged at his lips.

"So you endured," he murmured, more to himself than to them.

Only after confirming that none of their lives hung by a thread did Wang Chen finally release a quiet breath. Relief, subtle but genuine, flowed through him. The ache in his chest eased, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

Then he turned.

The temperature of the world dropped.

When Wang Chen faced the Original Demon once more, the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by an abyssal calm that rivaled the demon's own void.

His voice carried no rage. No strain. Just certainty, edged with disdain.

"You say…" he began slowly, tilting his head as if genuinely pondering the words. "What is more interesting?"

The Non-Existence rune at his brow pulsed once, so faint it was almost imaginary. Almost.

"A dead demon," Wang Chen continued evenly, "dares to speak to me like this?"

The demonic domain shuddered.

For the first time since manifesting, the Original Demon's expression froze—not in anger, but in something far more dangerous.

Unease.

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