The Celestial Palace Elder stiffened instantly.

Locked in Aurelius’s gaze, he instinctively tried to speak—still scrambling to defend himself, to argue for the Celestial Palace.

But the moment he opened his mouth, Aurelius casually lifted his right hand and pointed a single finger.

There was no grand display. No crushing pressure.

Just a thin strand of golden light—soft, almost gentle—slipping from his fingertip.

It wasn’t fast.

If anything, it was slow. Harmless-looking. Like a stray wisp of holy radiance.