Ancient Sword City lay at the very heart of the Soaring Dragon Continent, occupying its most prosperous and coveted region. The qi here was astonishingly dense—dozens of times richer than anywhere Wang Chen had experienced on the Azure Dragon Continent.

And yet, something about it felt… wrong.

This concentration was not natural.

As Wang Chen walked, his perception extended outward, tracing the invisible currents of energy flowing through the city. The qi did not circulate freely like a living ecosystem. Instead, it moved with rigid precision, as if guided by unseen hands.

A formation…

No—more than that.

It felt like the entire Soaring Dragon Continent was being drained, its qi siphoned from distant lands and forcibly concentrated here, piled layer upon layer into this single region. An artificial abundance, sustained at the cost of everywhere else.

Wang Chen's eyes narrowed slightly.

So that's how they maintain supremacy.

Lost in thought, he followed the surging crowd until the cityscape suddenly opened up before him.

A colossal arena rose from the earth, forged entirely from pure white stone. Its surface gleamed coldly under the sky, every inch engraved with ancient sword runes that radiated an oppressive sharpness. The air above it trembled faintly, as if even space itself feared being cut.

Wang Chen's eyes lit up.

This could only be the Battle Arena of the Thousand Sword Sect.

Any lingering doubt vanished the instant he saw the lone figure standing at the center of the arena.

A bloodied youth.

His robes were torn and stained crimson, his breath uneven, yet his spine was straight as a blade. He stood alone amid the vast arena, gazing toward the inner grounds of the Thousand Sword Sect without a shred of hesitation in his eyes.

That gaze was resolute.

Unyielding.

It was the look of a man who had already accepted death—and chosen to advance anyway.

"Lin Huang…"

Wang Chen muttered the name softly, his voice carrying an edge of pain he didn't bother hiding.

He knew the blood soaking his disciple's clothes wasn't Lin Huang's own. He knew that logically. But reason did little to ease the tightness forming in his chest. No matter how powerful he was, no matter how ancient his mindset had become—he was still a teacher.

And this was his disciple.

For a fleeting moment, Wang Chen felt the urge to step forward, to cross the arena in a single thought and personally examine Lin Huang's injuries. He could end this farce instantly. He could silence the Thousand Sword Sect with a word.

But he didn't move.

He couldn't.

If he intervened now, Lin Huang's heart demon would never shatter. The hatred, the humiliation, the blood-debt carved into his soul would remain unresolved—festering.

This trial was one Lin Huang had to face alone.

Wang Chen closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, his expression calm but heavy.

Endure, he thought.

Only if you are pushed beyond the brink… only then will I step in.

Until then, he would watch.

And wait.

With that thought firmly settled, Wang Chen suppressed his aura completely and melted into the crowd, becoming just another nameless spectator as he watched events unfold from a distance.

Around him, the stands buzzed with loud, incredulous voices.

"So this is the young man everyone's talking about?"

"He's only at the Foundation Building Realm… are you telling me he defeated all the outer sect disciples?"

"That has to be a joke. Even outer disciples of the Thousand Sword Sect are at least Golden Core. Some of the more talented ones are already at Nascent Soul!"

Their disbelief was understandable.

The Thousand Sword Sect was not some third-rate power. Even its outer disciples were monsters compared to cultivators from ordinary regions. For a mere Foundation Building cultivator to sweep through them so cleanly defied common sense.

Listening to these discussions, a faint, uncontrollable smile crept onto Wang Chen's lips.

A normal Foundation Building cultivator might indeed find such a feat impossible.

But Lin Huang was not normal.

His attainment in the Sword Dao was terrifying, especially his Path of Extreme Sharpness. When paired with an extreme-grade Dao foundation, his sword intent was no longer bound by conventional limits. Defense, realm gaps, even cultivation logic itself—none of it mattered if it could be cut.

For others, crossing realms in battle was a fantasy.

For Lin Huang, it was simply a matter of whether his blade was sharp enough.

And Wang Chen knew better than anyone that it was.

After all, whose disciple was Lin Huang?

The student of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo.

Wang Chen himself, back when he was still at the Foundation Building Realm, had casually crossed multiple major realms to kill Deity Transformation cultivators in a single strike. That was before accounting for his truly broken abilities.

Once his ultimate-grade skills came into play, very few beings—regardless of realm—could even stand in his path.

With that thought, Wang Chen's gaze returned to the bloodied figure standing proudly in the arena.

His smile faded, replaced by quiet focus.

Hold on, he thought calmly.

This trial isn't over yet.

...

At the very center of the arena, Lin Huang drew in a slow, controlled breath. The stench of blood still lingered in the air, thick and metallic, but his gaze remained unwavering.

Calm. Steady. Cold.

He lifted his head slightly and repeated his words, his voice neither loud nor forceful—yet somehow impossible to ignore.

"It seems the One Thousand Sword Sect is all bark and no bite," Lin Huang said evenly.

"Is there truly no sword cultivator in this entire sect who can take even one strike from me and still stand…?"

The moment the sentence fell, it was as if invisible thunder rolled across the arena.

Gasps erupted. Murmurs exploded into shouts. The blood of countless spectators boiled, outrage and disbelief surging like wildfire. Even those who had mocked Lin Huang earlier felt their scalps tingle.

Behind him, Zhao Yufei stood quietly, her posture relaxed, her eyes covered by a strip of silver cloth. Though blindfolded, she sensed everything—countless auras surging, hostile intent flooding toward them like a rising tide.

Just then, her brows twitched.

In one corner of the vast arena, she felt a faint, familiar fluctuation—subtle, restrained, yet impossibly deep.

Hmm…?

Who is that…?

Before she could pursue the thought, the heavens themselves seemed to respond.

The sky above the arena abruptly ignited in blazing orange light, as if anger had taken form. Clouds tore apart violently, revealing a towering figure descending from above.

An old man.

White hair flowed wildly around his head, his face twisted in fury, deep lines carved by years of authority and arrogance. The instant he appeared, crushing pressure descended like a mountain, forcing weaker cultivators to their knees.

His gaze locked onto Lin Huang with killing intent.

"Insolent junior!" the old man thundered.

"Was it you who crippled my precious disciple…?!"

There was no mistaking it.

This was the elder Lin Huang had provoked—the very existence that ruled over the inner sect like a tyrant.

Under the weight of that terrifying pressure, Lin Huang's expression didn't waver in the slightest.

Instead, he looked up.

And smiled.

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he met the elder's furious gaze head-on.

"Yes," Lin Huang replied calmly.

"It was I who crippled your disciple."

He paused, tilting his head slightly.

"So?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

His voice sharpened.

"Your disciple deserved it. If he were even slightly competent, he would've avoided that fate."

"So in the end, Elder… you can only blame him for being weak."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then—

"Seeking death…!"

The elder's roar shattered the air.

Lin Huang's words were the final spark.

The moment they fell, the atmosphere detonated.

The old man's white hair shot straight upward, each strand standing on end as if charged by lightning. His aura erupted without restraint, vast and tyrannical, crashing down upon the arena like a collapsing sky. The ground beneath his feet cracked, spiderweb fissures racing outward as terrifying pressure flooded the battlefield.

A torrent of densely compressed qi surged forward, violent and merciless, intent on crushing Lin Huang into nothing more than flesh and bone.

From within the crowd, Wang Chen's expression darkened instantly.

The lazy calm he had maintained vanished without a trace. A bone-deep coldness seeped into his eyes, sharp enough to freeze even space itself. His gaze locked onto the elder like a predator marking prey.

It didn't matter what his disciple had said.

It didn't matter how arrogant Lin Huang appeared.

If this old man dared to harm even a single hair on Lin Huang's head…

Then the One Thousand Sword Sect would be erased from history.

Completely.

On the arena floor, Zhao Yufei felt the overwhelming pressure surge like a tidal wave. Her breath hitched, panic slipping through her usually calm composure.

"Master, watch out…!" she called out urgently.

Until now, Lin Huang had ended every battle in a single move—clean, decisive, overwhelming.

But this time was different.

This wasn't a disciple.

This was an Elder.

And the heavens themselves seemed to be bearing down on him.

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