The sword fell right in front of Han Chengyang, instantly halting his movement. Simultaneously, a sharp, suffocating, and absolute sword intent erupted, spreading in all directions like an invisible wave. Everyone in the area felt it at once—a pressure that made their lungs feel constricted and their feet seem nailed to the ground. Han Chengyang, who had been advancing with murderous intent, came to an abrupt standstill. His fist, halfway raised, slowly lowered. The silvery-white energy surrounding him dimmed rapidly, like a flame doused by a bucketful of water. A thin layer of cold sweat appeared on his temples, though his expression struggled hard not to show it. "It hasn't even begun, and you already want to fight?" The voice came again, accompanied by a figure in white robes descending from the sky. His white robes fluttered gently as he glided down upon a current of golden sword energy. The aura surrounding him was not merely powerful; it was sharp and measured, like thousa