"Disciple Li Shen of the Life and Death Peak," the youth said flatly, his voice devoid of tone or warmth.
He stepped forward, unhurried, and withdrew a small, pitch-black dagger from his sleeve.
Without hesitation, he dragged the blade across his palm. Blood dripped soundlessly onto the ground.
A chill spread through the field.
The blood didn't pool, it writhed.
Black Qi poured from Li Shen's body, merging with the blood until the droplets began to twist and rise, stretching upward into vague human forms.
Within moments, the shapes solidified, each one refining until their features mirrored his own.
One became two.
Two became five.
Five became twenty.
In the blink of an eye, twenty identical Li Shens stood in perfect formation — each expressionless, each emanating that same cold, deathly calm.
A faint stir rippled through the crowd. Even the other geniuses couldn't help but feel unsettled. The technique was eerie, its Qi reeked of death.
