"When was the last time I suffered an injury?" Voltrex thought inwardly as he gazed at his wounded arm. "It actually feels amazing."
Despite being injured, and having just been dominated in a contest of pure strength by Azhryx, an uncontrollable smile curled across his face. It had been over a hundred years since Voltrex had ascended the throne of the Hundred Sky Mountains. Since then, no cultivator had dared challenge him, let alone pose a genuine threat. Born as a Thunderbane, with the spirit of a warrior engraved deep within his bloodline, the king's peaceful life had gradually become dull.
However, the clash with Azhryx—his overwhelming strength—had awakened those long-buried, battle-crazed instincts within Voltrex. His sword did not tremble from fear, nor from the wounds on his arm. It trembled from excitement.
"Why did you stop, Azhryx?" Voltrex said, a smirk curling on his face. "Don't tell me you're already tired. The fun has only begun."
