The silence that permeated the Divine Arena was no longer the silence of awe; it was the silence of a funeral for the ego of an entire generation.
Hundreds of millions of eyes were fixed on the small patch of white sand where the hierarchy of the world was being rewritten in real-time.
Shen Xinye stood amidst the small, smoking craters caused by Haoran's imitation of her own technique.
She let out a soft, dry chuckle that was devoid of any humor, before she smiled wryly and stared at Haoran with a gaze that finally acknowledged the terrifying truth.
'This man...' she thought, a chill tracing the length of her spine, 'is he even human? We're all about the same age, in fact, he's even younger, but how come the difference is so vast?'
That "trick"—the Sword Intent Bullet—was not just a whim, but it was a technique that had taken her almost a year of secluded meditation to master.
