"Hmmm… from the information I gathered with the help of Doomclock, this so-called envoy from the Ten Thousand Sword Sect had very terrible personality."

Wang Chen mused quietly, his gaze locked on Rong Lua—who now stood several steps away with a stiff, unnatural stillness.

"And he didn't even put Song Po in his eyes… treating him like a dog."

A faint glow flickered across Rong Lua's forehead.

If one looked closely, they would see a translucent phantom clock, its surface engraved with countless twisting, writhing runes—like a living curse.

It pulsed in and out of existence, imprinting itself deeper into the very fabric of Rong Lua's soul.

Doomclock's seal.

A perfect, absolute brand.

Once Rong Lua had reluctantly lowered his defenses—shaking like a drenched puppy—Wang Chen had slipped the seal into his spiritual space with terrifying ease.

Now, a single thought from Wang Chen… and Rong Lua would detonate from the inside out, his entire existence erased like dust scattered on the wind.

Wang Chen rubbed his chin, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

"Good. If this fellow misbehaves, I can pop him like a balloon."

But sealing Rong Lua wasn't the only thing Wang Chen had done.

Since he finally had an opportunity to peer into a normal cultivator's spiritual space, he had taken the chance—studying it down to the smallest detail.

And what he saw…

boggled his mind.

Rong Lua's spiritual space was indeed large—massive, even. About the same size as Wang Chen's own Garden of Eternity.

But aside from its size, nothing else even came close.

Wang Chen stood silently, expression darkening as he recalled the sight.

"Peak Nascent Soul Realm… and his spiritual space is like that?"

He had expected something grand. Something refined. Something befitting a genius of the Ten Thousand Sword Sect.

Instead—

He saw a wasteland.

Bare.

Empty.

Colorless.

A dry, cracked plane of lifeless soil stretching endlessly in all directions. Not a single blade of grass. Not a drop of flowing qi. Not even a hint of vitality.

Everything felt dead.

Dilapidated.

As if someone had abandoned the place ages ago and let it rot.

"The spiritual space of a peak Nascent Soul cultivator… really looks like abandoned ruins."

Wang Chen exhaled slowly.

The contrast to his own Garden of Eternity was so extreme it bordered on absurd.

His Garden was vibrant, breathing, alive.

A world evolving on its own—teeming with creatures, laws, vitality, and potential.

Rong Lua's… was practically a corpse.

This comparison settled something in Wang Chen's mind with absolute clarity.

"My spiritual space… is completely different from ordinary cultivators."

And not just different—

Monstrously superior.

Even a genius like Rong Lua, blessed by a top-tier sect, couldn't compare.

Not even remotely.

The realization made Wang Chen's heart thrum with an unspoken excitement.

If this was the difference at the Foundation Building stage…

What would happen when he reached Golden Core?

Nascent Soul?

Deity Transformation?

The simple thought made the surrounding air vibrate faintly.

Wang Chen's lips curved into a quiet, satisfied smile.

"Seems like fate is finally treating me well."

Just as he was thinking, Wang Chen's gaze drifted back toward Rong Lua. His expression shifted into something faintly indifferent—calm on the surface, icy beneath.

Some might wonder why he didn't simply kill Rong Lua where he stood. After all, he clearly held the advantage.

But the answer was simple.

"Right now, I am too weak," Wang Chen thought, eyes narrowing to slits. "If I kill him carelessly, the Ten Thousand Sword Sect will notice immediately. With my current strength… I might not survive their retaliation."

His eyes glinted with a razor-sharp chill.

No matter how proud and arrogant this swordsman was, no matter how humiliating his defeat, killing him wasn't worth risking the full wrath of a sect that stood far above the Azure Dragon Continent.

Control was safer.

Control was clean.

Control left no traces.

As he pondered, Rong Lua stood some distance away—motionless, hollow-eyed, his entire presence sagging as though his soul had evaporated.

The wound on his forehead from his frantic kowtowing had already healed, not even a scar left behind.

Yet the emptiness in his gaze painted a completely different story.

"I, Rong Lua…" he murmured internally, his thoughts drifting like scattered ashes. "A proud swordsman of the Ten Thousand Sword Sect… the foremost of my generation… reduced to nothing more than a slave."

There was bitterness.

There was humiliation.

But above all—there was confusion.

Something feels wrong…

He tried again to sense the seal that Wang Chen had forced into his spiritual space.

He searched, traced, probed every corner of his consciousness.

But there was nothing.

No seal.

No intrusion.

No foreign presence.

It was as if his spiritual space was untouched, pristine—free.

Yet the faint, glowing mark between his brows… told a very different story.

Rong Lua lifted a trembling hand, fingertips brushing the phantom glyph. At the slightest focus—

tick… tick… tick…

The sound of an ancient clock echoed directly into his soul, as if tearing apart the heavens with each beat.

He froze.

This wasn't a seal.

This wasn't a curse.

This was something far older, far more terrifying.

A brand that didn't need to exist within the spiritual space at all.

A brand that existed above laws.

Before he could attempt to understand further, Wang Chen's voice slipped into his ears—calm, unhurried, yet heavy enough to crush him.

"Don't waste time. Go protect my disciples."

The words stabbed into Rong Lua's heart like a sword.

Not because of the order itself—but because of the way his body responded.

Instant obedience.

Instant submission.

He hadn't even opened his mouth before his neck bowed, and his body responded like a trained child.

"Yes… senior."

The words tasted like ash.

Whoosh!

The next instant, Rong Lua vanished, streaking into the distance like a terrified beast fleeing into the dark.

The forest fell silent once more.

If not for the shattered trees and the deep fractures in the earth, not a soul in the world would believe that moments ago, a battle between two mighty cultivators had nearly erupted here.

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