The chimera's corpse was still smoking.
Heat shimmered faintly from the caved-in ribcage. Its broken heads lay twisted at unnatural angles, lifeless eyes staring into nothing.
And there—
just a few steps in front of it—
Shaurya stood.
Golden aura fading off his knuckles like dying sparks. His breath steady. His heartbeat calm. His gaze lifted toward the black throne floating across the giant valley-hall.
Shadow Blade An Ning had risen from his seat.
Long black robes rippled around his frame, as if stirred by invisible winds. His cold grey eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in a growing, undeniable interest.
Their gazes locked.
A silent collision of two powerhouses:
Shaurya—
Nascent Soul Level 11, battle-hardened, aura sharp and refined.
An Ning—
ancient master, Spirit Lord Level 3, pressure heavy enough to bend reality around him.
The silence was thick.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind before a storm.
The kind that made the world hold its breath.
