As a physical cultivator, Luke had dedicated nearly his entire life to mastering his body and strength. His resources were vast, his training meticulous, and his achievements significant—but none of it could hold a candle to a little-known youth standing before him.
The bitter truth stung like a blade. Shame—plain and simple disgrace—washed over Luke with ruthless clarity.
Anger welled fiercely within him, and with a violent gasp, blood erupted from his mouth and nose. He clutched his chest, knees buckling, forcing himself into a half-kneeling posture. Support came only from the sword held tightly in his grasp, a fragile lifeline amidst the overwhelming defeat.
His martial pride and heart, once steadfast and proud, was almost shattered by the cold grip of merciless reality.
"Trash!" Oswin's roar broke through, harsh and unyielding.
