The hour had finally come.
Beneath the crimson glow of dusk, Riley and his followers strode through the grand gates of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect, their silhouettes outlined by the waning light.
The air was still, heavy with anticipation, as countless disciples gathered along the stone walls and terraces to witness their departure.
The massive bronze gates creaked open, and the sound echoed across the courtyard like the toll of a funeral bell.
Every step Riley took outside felt like a declaration—a defiance against fate itself.
His robes fluttered in the cold wind, and behind him, his people followed in silence, their faces set and resolute.
Whispers rippled through the onlookers like wind through dry leaves.
"Elder Adam isn't with them," one young disciple murmured, his tone uncertain.
"Maybe he's given up on his disciple," another said, shaking his head.
"After all, what can a stupid disciple do against the might of a great elder of the sect?"
