"You might already know… but let me remind you again," Rong Lua said slowly, savoring each word as the forest dimmed around him. "This time, I'm here not merely as an envoy. I am one step away from the Deity Transformation Realm."

A faint crack rippled through the air as his aura swelled.

"During this chaos on the Azure Dragon Continent, I will break through… and return to my sect as a true Deity."

The moment those words left Rong Lua's mouth, his expression twisted into a hungry grin—and the pressure bearing down on Wang Chen doubled.

The shift was instant and brutal.

Even Wang Chen's expert facade wavered for a heartbeat.

"Master of Phoenix and Dragon Dojo…" Rong Lua's voice dripped with mockery.

"I know you're strong—but you could never be as strong as me, kekeke… isn't that right?"

Wang Chen's expression remained perfectly calm.

Not a single ripple appeared on the surface of his composure.

"Indeed, you are very impressive," he replied with a straight face. "But you see… I am only here to ensure my disciples do not encounter any danger."

The last word had barely left his lips when he silently whispered:

"Chronoblade."

—and the world died.

The sky froze mid-rumble.

Fluctuating winds halted like carvings in glass.

The leaves that had been trembling a heartbeat ago now hung motionless.

Rong Lua's mocking smile froze on his face like a grotesque painting.

Wang Chen stood alone in a silent world.

The gap between Foundation Building and Nascent Soul is too wide…

I might be able to kill him with a single strike… but the chance is low.

His thoughts raced like a lightning storm.

Wang Chen wasn't certain of his new limits, but he could tell—it was not enough. He could strike, but if Rong Lua survived…

His secret would be exposed.

Everything he hid—his reclusive master facade, his abilities, his origins—would unravel.

His mind churned, weighing consequences in fractions of a heartbeat.

The frozen world around him began flickering, color returning like ink spreading through water.

I have to choose… now.

Just as the final second of Chronoblade's effect trembled toward its end—

Wang Chen moved.

A sword of pure Eternal Sword Heart qi bloomed in his hand—silent, radiant, deadly.

One Thought to Cross the World—activated.

Space shrank.

In the next instant, Wang Chen stood beside Rong Lua, his sword tip resting against the envoy's throat.

So close that Rong Lua's skin dimpled beneath the killing intent.

So close that one gentle push would send his head flying.

And yet…

Wang Chen held back.

A flick of the wrist could alter the continent's fate—but he stayed his hand.

Wring—!

The frozen world shattered.

Sound roared back into existence.

Wind lashed against the ancient trees.

Life surged once again.

"Huh—!"

Rong Lua's eyes bulged, blood draining from his face. A cold shiver tore down his spine as he felt the fiery-cold kiss of a blade on his throat.

He didn't dare move.

He didn't dare breathe.

In that single instant, he understood—

Not through logic, not through pride, but through primal terror—

He had nearly died.

Without turning his head, he knew exactly what had happened.

My divine sense was locked onto him the entire time.

How… how did he appear at my neck?

How did he evade my spiritual perception?

What kind of monster is this man?

Thousands of questions erupted in Rong Lua's mind.

But the forest stayed silent.

Wang Chen offered no explanation.

And there was no time left for answers.

Only the cold, chilling truth remained—

The Foundation Building–realm master of Phoenix and Dragon Dojo had just placed his life on the edge of a sword without him realizing it.

Just then, Wang Chen's voice drifted into Rong Lua's ears—quiet, slow, but cold enough to freeze the marrow.

"I will ask this one last time. Tell me—why were you following my two disciples? And if your answer doesn't satisfy me…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't have to.

The distortion in his tone, the faint tremble of killing intent in the air—

it made the unspoken threat far more terrifying.

Wang Chen truly meant it.

He wasn't bluffing.

If Rong Lua's answer fell short, he would kill him without hesitation, even if it meant revealing cards he didn't want exposed yet.

That alone made his intentions clear.

Rong Lua's scalp tingled. Sweat soaked the back of his robes.

A Nascent Soul cultivator—one step from Deity Transformation—reduced to trembling before a man whose cultivation should've been an ant before him.

"Damn it… what do I do?"

His thoughts spun like a storm.

Every possible escape route flashed through his mind—and every single one shattered against the memory of that phantom sword at his throat.

Fight?

Impossible.

Run?

Laughable.

That speed… that technique… that temporal distortion… No technique in the Thousand Sword Sect could match that.

In less than a full breath, Rong Lua accepted reality:

He was utterly outmatched.

Wang Chen was just about to harden his resolve and remove the threat entirely when—

Thud!

A sudden sound cracked the heavy air.

Wang Chen's eyes flickered in mild surprise.

Rong Lua—

Nascent Soul cultivator, noble envoy, elite disciple of a mighty sect—

was on his knees.

Slamming his forehead into the dirt.

Over and over.

The earth shook with each desperate kowtow.

"Forgive me, senior!" he wailed, voice cracking like brittle glass. "I had no intention of harming your esteemed disciples! It's—it's all that evil old master of the Ten Thousand Sword Sect! That evil, she had sinister intentions toward you!"

Wang Chen blinked.

…Eh?

What the hell?

Even for him, this turn of events came too fast.

Rong Lua's earlier arrogance evaporated like smoke in a storm.

His dignity shattered so thoroughly it almost felt staged.

Bang! Bang!

He kowtowed harder.

Blood splattered beneath him.

His forehead caved slightly, crimson soaking into the forest floor.

If Wang Chen didn't know exactly how absurdly tough the bodies of Nascent Soul experts were, he might've believed this was genuine devotion rather than pitiful survival instinct.

Seeing Wang Chen remain silent, Rong Lua's face drained of all color.

Panic flooded his eyes.

The speed of his kowtowing doubled—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each impact louder, more frantic, more pathetic.

A thin line of blood dripped down his cheek.

Wang Chen finally let out a faint, indifferent sigh.

"Don't waste time with nonsense. Do you really think I'm unaware of your little actions?"

Rong Lua froze.

His throat constricted.

His heartbeat hammered.

A single sentence from Wang Chen hit harder than any sword strike.

His expression contorted—

as if someone had thrust lightning straight through his skull.

The horror in his chest deepened, but he didn't dare lift his head.

Wang Chen watched him calmly, then spoke again—lightly, almost casually.

"Hm. It's not like I cannot spare your life…"

Rong Lua's heartbeat stalled.

"…Just open your spiritual space for me, and allow me to place a seal."

Silence.

A dead, suffocating silence.

Rong Lua's soul nearly left his body.

No.

Absolutely not.

Never.

A seal inside his spiritual space?

That was worse than death.

It was slavery. Eternal slavery.

If he agreed, he would never be able to resist Wang Chen again, not even with Deity Transformation cultivation.

His mind screamed in refusal.

Just then, Wang Chen's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Did you just think of something?"

Boom—

Rong Lua almost fainted.

How did this man—this demon—

see straight through his thoughts?!

His face turned chalk-white, despair tightening around his neck like a noose.

At this point, he could only silently curse everything.

The Ten Thousand Sword Sect.

That incompetent old master.

And especially—

Ying Yue, that damned trouble magnet.

If she hadn't existed…

If her childhood sweetheart hadn't been this monster…

If none of this had involved him…

He wouldn't be groveling in the dirt like a terrified dog.

But fate had other plans.

And right now, Rong Lua could only kowtow again—

Bang!

—and pray to every ancestor he had left that this devil in human skin would spare him.

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