The man before the elders was tall—towering over everyone at more than two meters.
His presence was like a sword unsheathed: sharp, clean, impossibly calm, yet capable of cutting down everything in its path. His long white beard flowed in the wind, every strand unnaturally straight—not like hair, but like threads of refined blade edge.
He wore no extravagant robes, only simple gray-white garments, but they carried an ancient power that made every elder instinctively bow their heads in reverence.
"Patriarch!" the elders cried out in unison, their voices echoing through the mountain.
Even Grand Elder Huo, ever composed and calm, gave a rare nod of deep respect.
The man who had arrived was none other than the Sect Patriarch of the Xian Sword Sect—a figure so rarely seen that some younger elders had never even laid eyes on him. He had been in seclusion for decades, perhaps centuries, meditating on the pinnacle of Sword Dao in an unknown location.
And now, he had returned.
