"Noisy."
Wang Chen didn't even spare the demon a glance. His voice was faint, dismissive, as though he were commenting on an annoying bird chirping too close to his window.
Outwardly, he lounged in the void like a lazy immortal.
Inwardly?
His nerves were strung tighter than a drawn bowstring.
This demon could kill him with a finger.
He knew it.
The heavens knew it.
There was absolutely nothing "relaxed" about him.
Which was why, in the very next breath, he used the reward he'd been saving since the tower.
"Tower," Wang Chen whispered in his heart, "give me the peak strength of the Sword Saint avatar."
The tower's emotionless mechanical voice responded instantly—but he didn't even catch the words.
Because something else hit him first.
A tsunami of raw mana surged into his spiritual space like a star exploding. It squeezed into his meridians, threatening to tear everything apart from the inside.
Wang Chen's entire being screamed.
