Lin Huang stood at the center of the arena, unmoving.
Blood pooled beneath Elder Iron's fallen corpse, the metallic stench spreading through the air, thick enough to taste. Yet Lin Huang's breathing was calm, steady—so composed that it was as if the life he had just taken weighed no more than dust.
Killing a Deity Transformation Elder…
To him, it was nothing.
His silver blade hovered silently at his side, its edge still humming faintly, as though dissatisfied—hungry for more.
In a low, even voice, Lin Huang spoke again.
"The One Thousand Sword Sect is only so-so."
His words were soft, almost casual—but the moment they left his mouth, they rippled outward like a shockwave.
"Its reputation as the number one holy land of sword cultivation is undeserved. No wonder a sect that relies on stolen foundations and borrowed support can never rise above mediocrity."
Every syllable cut deeper than steel.
