Bai Zihan stood amidst the blood-soaked ground, his sword lowered but not sheathed.
The faint mist of battle still hung in the air, carrying the scent of burnt Qi and iron.
Around him, the corpses of those who had dared to challenge him lay in neat, lifeless halves—Bai Ren's doing.
The battlefield had gone quiet, except for the distant crackle of flames and the occasional dying groan.
The Bai Clan's cultivators stood proud and victorious, while their enemies—what few remained—stood frozen, too terrified to even move.
High above the carnage, the Emperor and the Second Prince watched from their vantage point, surrounded by the surviving commanders and guards of the Falling Star Empire.
None of them looked triumphant anymore.
The Emperor's expression was hard to read—caught between fury and disbelief—while the Second Prince's face had turned an ugly shade of pale.
He stared at Bai Zihan as if staring at a nightmare made of flesh.
