Santino stared in blank confusion. Flaxseed and the newly conscious Corin shared the same stunned expression. The notion that Ararat, lord of Swordmaster City at the top level of the Earthly Immortal Realm, would call Jared, a cultivator in the ninth level of the Wandering immortal Realm. as his master was absurd.

Regaining a shred of arrogance, Santino bared his teeth. “Do not think I fear you, Ararat! This is the Holy Light Sect. Even a swordmaster will obey or bleed here, and you…”

He never finished his words. Ararat moved. Nobody caught the moment the sword left his scabbard. One instant, the courtyard simmered with tension. Next, a silver streaked across the air so fast it seemed to shear daylight itself.

In the afterglow of that fleeting arc, Santino froze, face twisted in mid-snarl, every vein on his temple bulging like frayed rope. He did not fall. He stopped where stood.

A hair-thin crimson line blossomed across his throat. Then, in utter silence, man and armor shattered into countless motes of gold and white, glittering like dying stars before the wind carried them away.

The leader of the Holy Light Sect had just been erased in the span of a heartbeat. The plaza descended into silence. Disciples of the Holy Light Sect went pale as bones. Some collapsed to their knees, yet not one found the courage to run.

Ararat sheathed his sword and halted before Jared. He offered a respectful bow and said, “Mr. Chance, forgive the disturbance…”