Iye-Shang stood amidst the rubble of the shattered temple chamber, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His breath came in short, fiery bursts—each inhale sounding like a storm brewing in his lungs. The fight had drained him. His robes were torn, smeared with ash and blood—both his and the enemy's. His arms trembled slightly, but not from fear—only from the immense exertion of summoning the ancestral dragon energy.
Around him, the dust slowly settled.
Shadows began to emerge from the gloom—figures cloaked in long robes, bearing the marks of noble clans and ancient sects. Cultivators, elders, scouts, and warriors—all had rushed toward the origin of the colossal energy surge. They stood at a cautious distance, their eyes fixed on the lone figure in the center of the destruction.
None spoke. None dared approach.
But Iye-Shang saw them.
His golden dragon eyes scanned the crowd. Calm. Silent. Unyielding.
Then, without a single word, he let go of his control.
A sudden wave of pressure exploded from his body. It wasn't loud or dramatic—it was pure weight. Like the sky itself had descended upon the earth.
The entire chamber trembled.
Many cultivators dropped to their knees, clutching their chests as their spiritual cores quivered. Some groaned, others gasped. Their bones felt heavier, their blood flowed slower, and their thoughts blurred under the suffocating aura. Even those who were at the peak of Foundation Realm felt like ants under a mountain.
One elder tried to shield himself, raising a defensive barrier of spiritual light—but the pressure shattered it like thin glass. He staggered back, his face pale with shock.
He muttered in disbelief, "This... this is the aura of a true 7th stage cultivator… no—it's more than that. It carries the essence of the dragon bloodline."
Even Su-Shen, the prideful and fierce commander of the Su Family, gritted his teeth. His muscles stiffened, his spirit fought back, but the truth was undeniable. He was at the late peak of the 6th stage, just a breath away from the 7th—but that breath now felt like a mountain between him and Iye-Shang.
He clenched his fist, his pride burning as much as his veins did under the pressure. But even he could only stand still, unable to step forward.
"This boy," Su-Shen said under his breath, "he's beyond our generation..."
Iye-Shang didn't speak.
His aura spoke for him.
His silence was not weakness—it was sovereignty. He didn't have to prove anything. The world could feel what he was.
As the pressure slowly began to ease, many cultivators fell to the ground in exhaustion, gasping for air as if they had nearly drowned. A few looked up, faces full of awe, some with fear, and some with reverence.
No one questioned him now. No one dared.
The young dragon had shown the world that the bloodline of the ancients had returned—and it had not returned quietly.
From a distance, the ancient temple looked like a dying beast—its outer walls cracked and burned, its once-holy pillars now swallowed in chaos. The roars of demons and collapsing stone echoed across the ruined valley. Yet deep within, the heart of the temple still held firm, resisting total destruction as if something sacred—or cursed—clung to its core.
The three Iye beasts, monstrous and bloodthirsty, rushed toward the temple gates from within. Their bodies were soaked in blood, their multiple eyes twitching, tails lashing with fury. But strangely, they didn't want to escape. No, they feared what lay outside the temple more than the chaos within. And their fear proved true.
Because someone was already waiting.
He stood alone in their path like a statue carved by the heavens—Li-Wei.
His presence was serene, but terrifying.
Black hair fluttered in the cold air like silk threads of night, framing a face of flawless beauty. His skin, pale like carved jade, seemed to glow faintly under the blood-red sunlight. He wore a robe that was half white, half crimson, flowing around him as though reality itself dared not cling to him. His eyes—one crimson like an infernal flame, the other pitch black like an abyss—stared into the very souls of the beasts.
A chill ran through the air.
The beasts froze.
Li-Wei did not speak. He merely raised his hands and began to weave symbols in the air. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately—tracing ancient runes that shimmered like molten starlight.
Around him, the cultivators and even Iye-Shang turned to watch.
"Heaven and Earth Palm Technique…"
The words echoed silently, like a whisper in the bones of those who knew the legends.
The sky dimmed.
A thunderous silence fell.
Then—a golden rupture tore open the heavens.
From that rift descended a palm—not a hand, not a strike, but a palm the size of a mountain, crafted entirely from spiritual energy older than time itself. It glowed with radiant divine force, layered with symbols from both Heaven and Earth. Each line on that palm held a law of nature, each finger a will of destruction.
The cultivators watching fell to their knees, speechless.
Even Iye-Shang, with his dragon blood roaring in awe, could not compare what he had done to this single attack. His dragon had shaken the heavens. But this palm commanded them.
The palm crashed down.
The temple, both outer and inner, erupted into blinding white light. The ground cracked open. Storms of energy swept in all directions. Everything—stone, corpse, demon, spell—ceased to exist.
And the three beasts? They never had time to run. Not even to scream. Their monstrous forms were turned to dust before the palm even touched them. Annihilated. Erased. Forgotten.
When the light faded, there was no rubble—only a crater where the ancient temple once stood.
Silence.
No one cheered.
No one spoke.
Li-Wei stood still, his eyes closed, his robes rustling in the wind that had been born from the destruction. The cultivators around stared at him—not with admiration, but with reverence and fear.
Because they had just witnessed something no mortal realm was supposed to see.
Not just power.
But authority.
The kind that could defy Heaven itself.
Iye-Shang stood among the ruins, his battle-worn body still radiating the last sparks of dragon power. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes were fixed—not on the destruction behind, not on the cultivators gasping in awe, but on him.
Li-Wei.
The man who had erased three monstrous beasts and an ancient temple with a single strike.
He stood calmly, untouched by the chaos he had just unleashed. Wind danced around his robes as if bowing to him, and for a brief moment, everything else faded into silence.
Their eyes met.
Iye-Shang could sense something ancient and terrifying behind those mismatched eyes. A power not bound by realms, not tied to the heavens, not even governed by fate. It was beyond understanding—something forbidden.
Then, Li-Wei did something that made even Iye-Shang's dragon blood stir in unease.
He smiled.
Not a smile of warmth. Not a smile of triumph.
A demonic smile—cold, knowing, and filled with unsaid truths.
His lips parted. He spoke only two words.
"All the best."
And then, like a ripple in space, he vanished.
No light. No sound.
Just gone—like a phantom never meant to exist.
Iye-Shang stood frozen. His brows furrowed. All the best? Why? What did he mean by that? A chill crawled down his spine, and for the first time, doubt clouded the eyes of the dragon-born warrior.
Before he could think further—the ground trembled.
A low rumble echoed through the ruins.
The wind died.
A pressure began to rise—not sudden, but ancient, crawling upward from the heart of the earth. It was subtle at first, like a breath drawn from beneath the crust of the world.
Then it began to grow.
And grow.
Cultivators around began to panic. Some staggered, others fell to their knees. Their faces twisted in horror, unable to even identify what kind of power was emerging. Elders, who had seen wars and spirits, looked at each other with dread. Even Iye-Shang, a proud warrior of the dragon clan, stepped back.
The pressure wasn't just spiritual—it was primordial. It felt like the wrath of an ancient god awakening after eons of slumber. Trees wilted, birds fell dead from the sky, the air thickened as if time itself had begun to slow.
One old cultivator whispered in disbelief, "This... this is not a beast... this is a curse."
A crack formed in the ground. Dark energy seeped through like black blood, pulsing in rhythm with a monstrous heartbeat deep below.
Everyone present could feel it now.
Something was coming.
Something Li-Wei knew about.
Something he had unleashed... or warned them about.
And now, as the shaking intensified, and the sky turned darker above the crater...
Iye-Shang finally understood why Li-Wei had said those words.
"All the best."
Because the true nightmare...
was just beginning.