The courtyard was so silent that even the faint crackle of the torches could be heard. Dust floated in the air, and as it settled, all eyes turned toward Han Zhanjian, who stood still with his hand resting on the sword.
His face looked blank, almost unaware of what he had done. The ground around him shimmered faintly, as if the world itself was reacting to his presence.
Then, the first sound came—not from the crowd, but from the Sword Shandian Sect representatives.
"High Class Talent," one of them whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
The other blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. "Did you just say… High Class?"
The first representative nodded slowly, his expression turning pale. "Yes. Without a doubt. That's… that's a High Class talent!"
The words fell like thunder across the courtyard.
