The marketplace was silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Krish stood at the center of the square, hood casting a shadow over his eyes. Across from him, three Iron Fang Sect disciples squared their shoulders, a faint shimmer of aura flaring around their bodies. Their arrogance was palpable; they had grown used to everyone bowing their heads in fear.
"You're no simple traveler," the leader sneered again, fingers tightening around his sword hilt. "Your calm is an insult. Kneel now, and perhaps we'll let you live."
Krish tilted his head slightly, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. His eyes glinted from beneath the hood. "If you're so eager to test me, then come. But remember—you chose this."
The words struck the disciples like a slap. The leader's face twisted with rage. With a sharp gesture, he barked, "Cut him down!"
The other two disciples surged forward, spirit energy coating their blades. To the townsfolk, their speed was blinding, a flash of steel and aura that split the air. Gasps erupted from the crowd—any mortal cut by those strikes would be cleaved in two.
But to Krish, their movements were slow. He stepped forward once, and the world seemed to bend around him. His cloak shifted, his hand lifted lazily—then crack.
The first disciple's sword snapped in half as if it were rotten wood. Krish's palm struck his chest with such force that the man flew backward, crashing into a stall. The second disciple swung wildly, blade glowing with spirit light. Krish turned his wrist, caught the blade between two fingers, and twisted. Metal screamed as it bent like clay, then shattered. A sharp kick sent the disciple sprawling into the dust, coughing blood.
Only the leader remained, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Impossible… they're both outer core disciples…"
Krish finally pulled back his hood. The full weight of his gaze fell on the leader—a gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce through flesh and spirit alike. "If these two are your sect's pride," he said calmly, "then your sect is already finished."
The leader roared in defiance, channeling his aura until flames licked along his blade. He leapt high, bringing his weapon down with a strike that could have split stone. The crowd flinched, some covering their eyes.
Krish raised a single hand.
The blade met his palm—and stopped. Sparks flew, flames sputtered, and with a squeeze of his fingers, Krish crushed the steel like brittle glass.
The leader staggered back, terror dawning in his eyes. But before he could retreat, Krish's fist slammed into his chest. The shockwave cracked the stone beneath their feet, sending dust flying. The leader collapsed, unconscious, blood spilling from his mouth.
The square was silent again.
Gasps, whispers, and stifled cries rippled through the crowd. The old tea seller trembled as he whispered, "That… that was no ordinary cultivator. That was a demon god walking in flesh…"
RC's voice hummed softly from Krish's smart watch. "Power suppression level: ninety percent. Even at minimum effort, your superiority is… absolute."
Krish exhaled slowly, gaze sweeping the crowd. "I told them to be careful," he said softly.
But his words were only the beginning.
---
The Sect Responds
The disciples' defeat spread like fire. Within the hour, bells rang from the sect's mountain stronghold overlooking the valley. The Iron Fang Sect, humiliated, could not allow such an insult to stand.
By sunset, their leader descended with five elders, each radiating an aura that pressed heavily against the town. The air grew thick, the earth groaned beneath their presence, and mortals fell to their knees as if the heavens themselves were bearing down.
The sect leader was a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in black robes embroidered with fangs. His cultivation aura surged like a raging river—far beyond his disciples, a power that had ruled the valley for decades.
"Who dares humiliate my sect?" his voice thundered across the square, rattling the windows.
Krish stood calmly where he had been since the fight, cloak fluttering in the storm of spiritual pressure. His hair shifted in the wind, his eyes gleaming like twin stars.
The leader's gaze locked onto him, and his aura crashed down like a mountain. The crowd gasped, many coughing blood from the suffocating weight. Even cultivators trembled, barely able to stand.
But Krish did not bend. He did not even blink. Instead, he stepped forward—and with that step, the leader's aura shattered like glass.
The sect leader's eyes widened. The elders faltered, their power breaking apart under the sheer pressure rolling off Krish's body. It wasn't the aura of a man in their realm—it was something beyond, something they could not measure.
"Impossible…" one elder stammered. "No one in this region could…"
Krish's voice cut through their disbelief, steady as iron. "Your disciples attacked me. Your sect sought to humiliate me. Now you bring your elders, thinking numbers will change the outcome?"
The leader snarled, fury overtaking his fear. "Kill him!"
The five elders moved in unison, their attacks lighting up the sky—fire, wind, lightning, and steel merging into a storm of destruction. The crowd screamed, certain the town itself would be obliterated.
Krish raised his hand.
The Silver Dragon's power, fused with the spirit stone, answered his call. A shimmering barrier of silver light erupted around him, swallowing the elders' attacks whole. Their techniques dissolved as if they had been swallowed by the void.
Before they could comprehend what had happened, Krish vanished from sight.
One breath later, he stood behind the first elder. His strike landed like a hammer, sending the man flying through two buildings. A twist of his wrist summoned a silver blade of pure energy, which swept outward and disarmed the next two elders, shattering their weapons and breaking their auras.
The fourth elder screamed as Krish's kick shattered his ribs. The fifth fell to his knees before a blow even landed, his spirit crushed by sheer fear.
The leader roared in desperation, pouring all his power into a single strike. His sword glowed like molten sun, his veins bulged as he screamed, "Iron Fang Divine Cleaver!"
The blade came down, splitting the square in two—until Krish caught it in his bare hand.
The leader's eyes bulged. "What… what are you…?"
Krish squeezed. The blade cracked, then disintegrated into dust. With his other hand, he pressed two fingers to the leader's chest. The man's aura shattered like brittle stone, his body collapsing to the ground, powerless.
The town fell silent.
The people stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. The Iron Fang Sect—the rulers of this valley, feared for generations—lay broken at Krish's feet. Their leader groaned in the dirt, the elders scattered and defeated.
Krish looked down at them, his gaze calm but merciless. "You rule through fear and oppression. But understand this—I fear nothing in this world. Remember my face. Remember this name: Krish."
He turned away, cloak swirling behind him. RC's voice murmured in his ear, soft and clinical: "Combat concluded. Iron Fang Sect: effectively dismantled. Probability of retaliation from allied sects: ninety percent."
Krish's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good. Let them come."
The Silver Dragon shimmered into view above the square, its invisible cloak dropping as if in defiance. The townsfolk gasped, dropping to their knees in awe. A ship that defied heaven itself, and a man who crushed sects as easily as twigs—these were not mortals. They were legends born in flesh.
Krish stepped aboard the ship without looking back. The Silver Dragon roared, rising into the sky, its silver light casting long shadows across the stunned town.
The storm had passed—but for Stone Fang Town, and for the cultivation world beyond, this was only the beginning.
---