"What is this magic? How can you survive this attack? No Blood Infusion Stage cultivator should be able to survive a blade attack—"
Kaiser Von Maximus's voice cracked through the air like splitting timber. The veins along his forehead stood out thick as rope, pulsing visibly with each heaving breath. Whatever composure he had carried into this confrontation was gone — shattered cleanly, with nothing left to reassemble.
Lukas had not only survived. He had made it look effortless.
But Lukas wasn't listening to Kaiser's wounded roar. His eyes moved across the ground, the surrounding air, the space between them.
Blade attack. So where's the blade?
Kaiser had said it plainly. A blade. But there was no weapon — no edge catching the light, no steel, nothing that explained the strike he had just absorbed.
Nearby, Ambrose had gone very still.
