Wei Ji stood silently beside Ren's half-eaten corpse. The roots had already consumed most of his flesh, leaving only the shriveled remains of what used to be a proud disciple of the Sword Shandian Sect. The sound of cracking roots and sizzling air filled the room, a steady rhythm of destruction that seemed endless. Every strike, every movement, every clash of spiritual force shook the foundations of the hall.
Across the shattered floor, the two elders—one wrapped in shadows and black mist, the other blazing with thunderlight—faced each other once more. Their breathing was heavy, their eyes sharp as blades. Neither spoke at first. The silence between them was filled with tension so heavy that even the air seemed to stop moving. The demonic elder slowly raised his hand, and roots began to writhe from beneath his feet like living serpents, spreading across the ground in thick coils. The sword elder tightened his grip on his lightning blade, sparks jumping wildly from its edge.
