The question lingered in the air like a tolling bell, and no one dared to break the silence.
Tens of thousands held their breath, waiting—waiting for Jun Wu to speak, to explain, to unveil the mysteries only he seemed capable of speaking.
Inside the VIP chamber, the atmosphere was equally solemn. Powerful clan leaders, academies, and associations all sat upright, their expressions grave.
They had seen countless prodigies in their time, yet here they were, eager to listen to the words of an eighteen-year-old youth.
Jun Wu stood at the center of the colosseum, utterly calm beneath the weight of thousands of gazes.
His white robe fluttered gently in the breeze, and his bearing radiated an authority that seemed to come not from his age but from something older, grander.
"From my little knowledge," he began, his voice steady, each word carrying across the arena.
