Wang Chen remained utterly unfazed beneath the Crimson Queen's scorching gaze.

If anything, the longer he looked at her, the more intent his eyes became—deep, steady, almost contemplative.

It was as though, after an endless stretch of monotony, he had finally found something vaguely interesting… something worth pausing for.

A faint breeze brushed past him. The battered lake shore still crackled with residual sword qi, flecks of spiritual light drifting upward like embers. Amid this quiet ruin, Wang Chen suddenly chuckled.

The sound was soft, unrestrained, carrying a strangely carefree warmth.

"How long it has been since someone called me little brother…" he murmured.

He tilted his head back, letting his gaze wander toward the fractured sky. And for a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow around him.

A shadow of ancient melancholy passed through his eyes—fleeting, but impossibly deep.

It hinted at miles of loneliness walked in silence, burdens carried without complaint, memories older than the air they breathed.

"Master…!" Lin Huang's voice cracked through the tense silence.

He felt it—an aura rolling off his teacher that didn't belong to this battlefield.

It belonged to a man who had lived far too long, seen far too much.

Something inside Lin Huang twisted painfully. Beneath that lazy smile, his master seemed to carry a weight capable of crushing a mountain… and still bore it alone.

Why am I so useless?

If only I were more talented… stronger… maybe I could have eased at least a fraction of his burden.

Lin Huang's fists clenched, nails piercing his skin, warm blood trickling between his fingers.

"Teacher…" Li Mei whispered softly. Even her usually calm gaze wavered.

Guilt pricked at her chest—the kind that came from recognizing just how much they depended on him, how little they contributed in return.

Instead of assisting him, they were out here adding trouble to his shoulders.

Wang Chen, meanwhile, had absolutely no idea that his two disciples were spiraling into existential guilt.

If he heard their thoughts, he would probably cough up blood.

But he didn't hear them, and so he simply continued standing there, wrapped in the remnants of melancholy that neither belonged nor fully disappeared.

Then—like a candle flame shifting with the breeze—his expression returned to its habitual calm indifference.

He lowered his head and met the Crimson Queen's gaze directly.

Her crimson eyes reflected a faint ripple of interest, but his own remained steady, lazy, and utterly unbothered.

"Woman," he said, tone drifting back into its usual carefree drawl, "you are someone who made me laugh after such a long time. I owe you a favor."

The world, still crackling from the earlier clash of titanic powers, seemed to quiet at his declaration.

Crimson Queen's smile froze.

Her cherry-red lips, moments ago curved with predatory amusement, twitched sharply as she took in Wang Chen's utterly careless expression.

She could feel it—his strength diminishing, the terrifying peak power he wielded moments ago fading like a tide pulling back into the sea.

Yet the way he stood there… calm, composed, looking directly into her eyes without the slightest tremor…

Her heart skipped a beat.

That should have been impossible. Someone whose cultivation was clearly dropping should instinctively fear her.

Instead, he looked at her as if she were nothing more than a mildly curious distraction.

For the first time in countless years, the Crimson Queen found herself lost for words.

She stood motionless, her figure carved like a flawless ruby statue beneath the ancient oak. The winds rustling her crimson hair seemed louder than her thoughts—she couldn't find a single response.

Across from her, the white-robed Daoist's reaction wasn't any better. His lips trembled once before he forced them into a stiff line.

If even the Crimson Queen could be affected by Wang Chen's composure, what chance did he have? His cultivation was far lower. His mental fortitude even worse.

The white-robed Daoist suddenly cupped his hands respectfully, his expression tight.

"Forgive me, everyone," he said after a deep breath. "I seem to have some urgent matters to attend to, so I will have to take my leave."

He didn't elaborate.

He didn't dare.

The moment the last word left his mouth, his entire figure dissolved into countless motes of white light, fleeing across the horizon at a speed that screamed desperation.

He didn't even look back.

…

As for the two little city lords—they remained pitifully frozen where they stood.

No one paid them the slightest attention.

Song Po, trembling with the realization that his miserable life hung on a sword thread, tried to shrink into the atmosphere itself.

Wind and Thunder City Lord remained stiff and pale as chalk, silently praying the heavens would erase him from Wang Chen's sight entirely.

Meanwhile, Rong Lua inched closer to Lin Huang and Li Mei.

He did it subtly—trying not to seem too eager—but the intention was obvious. This was his chance to show loyalty to Wang Chen after nearly dying by association.

If the master of Phoenix and Dragon Dojo wanted him protecting these two… then he would do so with everything he had.

High above, the Crimson Queen didn't notice him.

Her eyes remained fixed on the vanishing trail of the white-robed Daoist's escape until he completely disappeared into the distant horizon.

Only then did her crimson eyes narrow, a faint chill filling them.

"White-robed Ghost…" she whispered.

The name left her lips with unusual seriousness.

The White-robed Ghost—an infamous evil cultivator whose cruelty was recognized across the Seven Continents. A predator who hunted Nascent Soul cultivators as if they were livestock, dragging them into abyssal rituals to devour their nascent spirits and forcefully climb realms.

A true demonic cultivator.

Someone whose mere presence could turn cities into silence.

Yet he had run away without hesitation the moment Wang Chen spoke casually.

The Crimson Queen's gaze returned to Wang Chen, observing him anew, a strange glimmer flickering behind her crimson irises.

Wang Chen remained where he stood, looking as if he hadn't noticed any of the turmoil he caused.

After another moment, Crimson Queen's eyes drifted back to Wang Chen.

Wang Chen met her gaze without the slightest ripple.

Not only calm—there was even a quiet encouragement in his eyes, the kind a senior might give to a promising junior who had just taken her first step into a wider world.

Crimson Queen's left eye twitched.

She wasn't used to this.

She was the one who usually held that detached, superior posture. She was the one others feared, admired, bowed to. She had never—ever—been on the receiving end of someone else's gentle, almost pitying look.

A strange, uncomfortable warmth curled in her chest, and she immediately suppressed it.

After casting one sweeping look at the battlefield and everyone present, Crimson Queen said nothing more. Her figure blurred lightly, like a crimson petal dissolving into the air, and she vanished without a sound.

…

Only when her presence faded completely from the last wisp of qi in the surroundings did Wang Chen finally exhale.

A long, slow, exhausted sigh.

She's truly gone.

Heavens above, save me.

Inside, Wang Chen was practically crying. From the moment that woman arrived, his soul felt clenched in an icy fist. Her aura alone told him the truth he did not want to face—against her, he was absolutely not a match.

If she wanted him dead, the Sword Saint power wouldn't have saved him.

Still, he couldn't help feeling a small, smug spark glowing inside his chest.

His acting skills were terrifyingly good.

On the outside, he appeared to be calmly observing the direction she disappeared, divine sense stretched lazily as if he were still evaluating her qi traces.

In reality… that had been the white-robed Daoist.

Crimson Queen, sharp as she was, had sensed something was off. She hadn't been entirely convinced by Wang Chen's "Deity Transformation senior" act. But the instant the white-robed ghost appeared, she had no choice but to divert her focus.

That man had slaughtered far too many members of her Crimson Sect.

She wouldn't let him roam free.

As for the white-robed ghost—he was exhausted. He had come to the Azure Dragon Continent precisely because of her pursuit. Encountering her again here of all places was a nightmare come true.

The moment he found a gap, he ran for his life.

Wang Chen, of course, didn't know any of this.

And honestly, he didn't care.

He was simply glad he was still alive.

Calming his nerves, he turned toward his disciples. The oppressive air finally relaxed. His steps were unhurried, his expression softening into that familiar serene, lazy smile of his.

"Are you okay, my two little disciples?"

Lin Huang and Li Mei froze for a heartbeat. Then, like two startled sparrows pecking rice, they nodded rapidly in unison—heads bobbing adorably as if trying to reassure him with every motion.

Their faces were pale, their breathing unsteady, their hearts still shaking from the sequence of terrors…

but before their master, they straightened instinctively.

Wang Chen felt warmth settle in his chest.

These two truly relied on him.

And he—despite everything—felt strangely glad he had arrived in time.

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