The Blackwind Trio—the infamous Three Fiends of Blackwind—turned as one, their lips curling into cruel, mocking sneers.“Boy, even when that little girl had two Martial Kings guarding her, they didn’t dare touch us. And you? You actually think you can provoke all three of us?” Their laughter cut through the mountain air, sharp as a blade. Each step they took was heavy, deliberate, radiating a suffocating aura of death that seemed to swallow the space around them.Arwyn Caelith darted to Kaelen’s side, voice low and urgent. “These three… they’re not ordinary foes. You’re unguarded. Don’t clash with them head-on.”To her, the white-robed youth looked no different from some unremarkable clan boy—no famous backing, no legendary lineage. Just arrogance too big for his strength. And Arwyn knew arrogance like that often ended in tragedy.Kaelen’s gaze remained calm, almost amused. “These Blackwind Fiends… countless atrocities mark their path. Since they’ve chosen to cross me today, I’ll act

Kaelen stepped onto the trial grounds, calm and measured. Every motion deliberate, every step purposeful. His gaze swept across the arena before settling on the black-clad elder overseeing the Iron Puppet trial. He cupped his fists in respect and gave a slight bow.“Elder, we are ready. Please activate the Iron Puppet,” Kaelen said, his voice steady, unshaken despite the murmuring crowd.The elder’s eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “You’ve got some nerve,” he said, dismissive yet curious. A subtle wave of divine sense swept over Kaelen, probing his cultivation—a silent test of potential.Kaelen’s lips twitched faintly. Unfazed. He had inherited the supreme Creation Divine Art, a cultivation so refined even a Martial Emperor–realm elder could not gauge his true strength. To the elder, Kaelen’s power remained hidden, a flame veiled in mist.“Nothing remarkable,” the elder muttered inwardly. “A sixth-level Sky Martial Realm youth. Hardly worth noticing.”Then Kaelen moved.Instantly

Kaelen’s eyes flicked toward Princess Ardenya. Surprise. Admiration. Both danced across his gaze. He hadn’t expected the crimson-clad young woman to move so decisively, so ruthlessly precise. The moment she saw him strike down Arion Voidreaver, she acted—no hesitation. Each strike she delivered to the remaining heirs of the noble families was surgical. Cold. Efficient. There wasn’t a single misstep, no trace left behind that could betray their presence.“I never imagined Brother Kaelen had such strength,” Ardenya whispered, returning to him, voice low and awed. “Even Arion Voidreaver… one of the top ten outer sect disciples, a half-step Martial King—he couldn’t withstand a single strike.”Her eyes lingered on him. It was as if she were seeing him for the first time. The white-robed youth before her had concealed his true power with such subtlety, it was almost unreal. His cultivation, his skill… almost incomprehensible. She wondered briefly why he’d hidden it during the entrance asses

Clang!Steel screamed through the frozen air. A sharp, piercing cry that made the snow tremble.Pfft!The Martial King guard—just moments ago sneering like he owned the world—froze mid-laugh. Pain tore through his throat. His eyes bulged in horror as his head lifted clean from his shoulders, spinning through the icy air before slamming onto the snow.Bang!The body toppled, spraying crimson across the white ground before finally lying still.“One sword… instant death?!”The second Martial King’s eyes shrank to pinpoints. He hadn’t even seen Kaelen move. One moment his comrade had been arrogantly boasting; the next, gone. Just like that.“This boy… this boy is a monster!”Panic surged. He grabbed the Third Young Master of the Venomspire Sect, dragging him toward the valley’s edge.The young master’s face was deathly pale. Eyes wide, haunted by that single, merciless strike. He had marched into this valley certain of his untouchable status. Now? One of his elite guards—feared across pro

Aurelia City erupted into chaos.“It’s him! The Iron-Handed Bandit!”“No doubt… he’s come to Aurelia City!”“This isn’t some petty thief! He’s a marauder, ruthless and merciless. He burns, kills, plunders… even the gods would tremble at his name!”The cobblestones shook beneath his heavy steps. The Iron-Handed Bandit moved like a storm made flesh. Every footfall radiated terror. His rugged face twisted with savage intent, eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. Screams pierced the air, citizens scattered, and chaos rippled through the streets like wildfire. Fear hung in the night like smoke.“I’ve finally found you!” A commanding voice cut through the bedlam.Laughter followed—light, melodic, yet chillingly calm. Heads tilted as a young man descended upon a golden flying sword. His robes shimmered like fresh snow, hair streaming behind him like a banner in the wind. One hand casually held a wine jug; the other gripped a long, gleaming sword.“One sword, one song, one world… only I, Cae