A Sword That Silenced the Wasteland
"Who is this person?"
The question rose in countless hearts at once.
Above the scorched wasteland, beneath a sky still trembling from the clash of Mana, a lone white-robed figure stood suspended in midair.
Leon.
His midnight robes, embroidered with faint amethyst patterns, fluttered in the restless wind. His long black hair drifted behind him in slow, deliberate waves, as if even the air hesitated to disturb him. Purple eyes—calm. Unhurried. Watching.
In his hand—
the Ancient precious bone of the Inferno Kong.
The bone still radiated a faint crimson glow, heat pulsing through its jagged edges like a dying heartbeat. It should have been impossible to hold so casually. Even from a distance, its pressure made seasoned cultivators grit their teeth.
Under the lingering pressure of his sword intent, not a single cultivator dared to step forward.
Not one.
Even the King Realm experts hesitated.
The silence itself was proof of dominance.
