Haoran slowly walked from behind Lin Che, his footsteps were entirely silent against the ancient, dark stone tiles of the apex platform.
He moved with an unhurried, majestic grace, his dark robes fluttering gently in the stagnant void wind.
The phantom blade of pure, dark sword intent in his right hand hummed with a quiet resonance.
He stopped just a few paces behind the kneeling, broken figure of the transmigrator.
"Any last words?" asked Haoran.
His voice was calm, level, and entirely devoid of malice or hatred. To him, this was simply the final execution of a dangerous variable that did not belong in his world.
Lin Che closed his eyes, as if remembering a distant memory.
As the cold darkness crept into the edges of his failing vision and the life bled out from his pierced heart, the chaotic noise of the trial dimension began to fade away into an absolute, ringing silence.
