They walked toward the chaos like it was nothing.
Smoke curled into the air, spiraling high above the shattered building. People gathered around, whispering, pointing, backing away as two scorched cultivators stumbled to their feet, blood trailing from their lips.
From the ruins stepped a man in black and red robes, his long hair tied into a high knot, a jagged blade resting on his shoulder. His aura crackled with killing intent. His eyes swept the crowd—cold, sharp, like a predator searching for another fight.
He pointed the blade at one of the injured cultivators. "You dare question my clan's honor in public?"
The man coughed up blood and spat, "You cheated in the duel, you bastard!"
The crowd gasped. A few onlookers floated backward, distancing themselves before another explosion happened.
The red-robed man grinned. "You lost. Accept it."
He raised his blade again, spiritual energy flooding the air like a pressure wave. People shielded themselves, some retreating outright.
