"Come here, dig a hole for Ethan!"
North Ashenvale waved casually, as if ordering servants to prepare afternoon tea instead of a grave.
The two cultivators behind him stepped forward without hesitation. Their spiritual energy surged as they carved a rectangular pit into the ground within seconds—wide, deep, and humiliatingly precise.
"Bury me?" Ethan asked, voice flat.
"You must also have that ability."
The corner of North Ashenvale's mouth twitched.
But Ethan's attention had already shifted. His gaze swept past North Ashenvale and fell on the incoming presences—six of them. Each descending force carried oppressive weight, bending the forest wind to their will.
Two half-step Supreme Realm cultivators.
Two at the Ninth Turn Mahayana.
Two at the Eighth Turn Mahayana.
A lineup that could flatten an entire high-tier sect overnight.
**Swish! Swish! Swish!**
Air cracked apart as six figures dropped beside Noel Ashenvale and North Ashenvale.
