The Serpent Scale Soarer sliced through the heavens, a silent, dark predator leaving the blood-soaked canyon of Serpent's Pass far behind. The screams of their fallen sect mates, the triumphant roars of their rivals, the stench of death—it all faded into a distant, nightmarish echo.
All that remained was the rush of the wind and the grim, heavy silence between them.
Wang Jian stood at the helm, his expression a mask of cold, unreadable calm. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his mind already leagues away, calculating, planning, processing the brutal calculus of their survival.
Yue Lingshan stood a few feet behind him, her hands gripping the cool, smooth railing of the artifact. Her body still trembled with the residual adrenaline of the battle, her mind replaying the horrific scenes of the slaughter. Her sect brothers, men she had trained alongside, laughed with… all gone.
