"Well now. It seems interesting things tends to happen when I'm away."
The absolute, terrifying silence that had claimed the frozen battlefield was not merely a lack of sound, but more of a physical weight, a vacuum created by the sudden arrival of a predator that the world itself seemed to recognize.
Shen Haoran stood at the center of the kaleidoscopic ripples of the fading gate, his robes as crisp and clean as if he had never moved, let alone just returned from a collapsing dimension.
The thousands of cultivators—elite disciples, and blood-soaked elders—all stopped mid-breath.
Blades were held in trembling hands, and spells flickered out as every eye turned toward the young man with golden pupils.
The raw, unadulterated Nascent Soul pressure radiating from him now was not a wild, surging flood like Shui Heng's; it was a deep, silent ocean, terrifying in its stillness.
