Beyond the mountain range, at the ragged fringe of the Blood-scar Plains, the once-ominous coalition limped homeward.
A day earlier, they had been arrogant. Now clusters of survivors skulked like strays, ripping off sect insignia and cursing the slow gift of two legs.
At the head staggered Sheldon, skin the color of grave dust, eyes unfocused, gait that of a man centuries older than sunrise.
Jared's indifferent stare kept spooling through his mind, the casual flick that erased a demon elder to ash, the single sweep of sword-light that turned hundreds of elite cultivators into drifting sand.
Again and again, the same fragments replayed inside Sheldon's bruised mind. He saw Jared's sword split the sky. He saw Mordain, once the immovable pillar of the Infinite Soul Demon Sect, vanish in a single, merciless flash.
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