"Young people these days are still too impatient. Life and cultivation must be taken slowly…"
Ethan's voice was calm, even gentle, yet every word carried an invisible weight.
"Young man, I'll give you a chance to reorganize your language," he continued, his gaze steady.
"You'd better think it through before speaking."
As his words fell, the demonic power within Ethan quietly surged.
It did not explode violently, nor did it roar arrogantly. Instead, it spread like a deep tide beneath still waters—heavy, ancient, and suppressive.
"Hey… you little roe deer, what are you trying to—"
The tall guard froze mid-sentence.
His pupils dilated abruptly. His throat tightened. The words that followed never made it out.
Because he felt it.
That aura.
Cold. Vast. Overwhelming.
At first, he thought it was fifth level.
Then his expression changed.
No… seventh level.
