Cyrus Thorn's laughter erupted suddenly, loud and harsh, echoing across the mountains like thunder rolling over jagged cliffs.
"Hahaha! All my life, I have been free! I have done as I pleased! I bow to no man, no sect, no heaven — not even death itself could ever subdue me!"
Ross's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
"I expected nothing less," he said quietly.
"But freedom… freedom is a fragile thing. There are many ways to enslave a being, Cyrus Thorn. Some far subtler, far more permanent, than mere death."
Cyrus Thorn's laughter faltered slightly, a flicker of unease passing through his expression.
Ross's calm confidence, the quiet power radiating from him, was unsettling in a way that Cyrus had never encountered before.
This was not a mortal man, nor even a cultivator of ordinary legend — this was something far beyond, a force that could bend the very rules of life and death without breaking a sweat.
