The chaos of battle swirled around Tian Shen like a tempest.
Masked figures fell one after another under the combined assault of his group, yet their number seemed endless, each new disciple of the Evil Serpent Sect as determined as the last.
His blade cut through them with the precision of a seasoned warrior, each strike focused, his Qi flowing through the steel like a river of fire.
But despite the carnage, one figure stood untouched.
Zhao Lan.
The Flame Disciple held his ground atop the wagon, his eyes locked onto Tian Shen with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
The blue flame on his staff flickered ominously, casting long shadows that danced like vengeful spirits. His voice, when it came, was cold and confident, reverberating with power.
"You truly are a thread of the old curse," Zhao Lan repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.
"The pieces fall into place now. I had suspected as much, but to see it in the flesh… fascinating."
