The battlefield had gone silent.
The shattered Graveyard Forest stood motionless, the once-twisting fog burned away by divine light. Only smoke lingered, whispering through the broken air.
Two figures faced each other across the ruined ground —
one cloaked in golden radiance, the other in shadow's lingering breath.
Shaurya.
Yang Ling.
Heaven and Abyss.
The golden aura around Shaurya pulsed gently, his robes torn, his body bloodstained — yet his eyes burned brighter than ever. His expression calm, his breathing steady, his sword gleaming with quiet menace.
Yang Ling's body hovered inches above the ground, grey mist curling around him. His grin had vanished. What replaced it was a grim, sharpened focus. His crimson eyes flickered with disbelief.
He could feel it.
Shaurya's cultivation had changed.
"You… broke through," Yang Ling muttered, voice carrying a tremor of shock.
Shaurya's golden eyes narrowed, his tone deep and unshaken.
