"Who are you?" the woman asked in a low, sharp voice that sliced through the heavy silence like a blade.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion and disdain.
The man standing opposite her did not answer.
He simply stared—unblinking, unmoved, his face carved in stone.
Only the wind stirred, tossing the dust and debris between them like the opening act of an approaching storm.
The tension was suffocating.
All around them, hidden behind shattered walls and scorched trees, dozens of cultivators watched.
No one dared to move.
No one dared to speak.
The sheer pressure between the two figures was enough to rob them of breath.
Curiosity, confusion, and a mounting sense of dread tangled in their hearts like weeds choking a well.
Who was this man? they all thought, unable to tear their eyes away.
For him to stand before her—the Crimson Fan Deviless, infamous for her ruthlessness and formidable strength—he couldn't be ordinary.
