The Sword Shandian sect elders exchanged brief glances before one of them—a tall man with long white hair tied in a silver clasp—took a step forward. His voice carried a calm yet sharp tone that sliced through the murmuring air of the courtyard.
"Han Zukong," he said, his hand slowly lifting. "Step forward once more."
The entire Han Family hall grew silent. The servants froze where they stood. Even the sound of the wind rustling through the hanging red banners seemed to fade.
Han Zukong looked surprised but quickly regained his composure, stepping forward with his usual proud gait.
The moment his foot landed before the Sword Shandian elders, the ground itself trembled slightly, as if reacting to the aura gathering around him.
Then, with one synchronized movement, the Sword Shandian disciples surrounding him unsheathed their swords.
Shing! Shing! Shing!
The air was filled with a metallic symphony as over a dozen swords glinted in the sunlight.
