Before Yanwei could respond, a voice rang out, silencing the crowd. “Enough playing around! Prepare yourselves for the secret realm. The only advice I have for you is this: do not trust anyone, not even your sect brothers.”
The speaker was an old man with flowing white hair, his peaceful expression masking an undeniable authority—Elder Xin. His presence alone commanded respect, and every word he spoke was like a decree carved into stone.
The disciples froze, then gasped in unison. For many, this was their first time seeing an elder. Excitement flickered in their eyes. A single piece of advice from an elder could be the difference between survival and death in the secret realm.
Jiang Yu stood straighter, his usual arrogance replaced by a rare display of admiration. He knew who this man was: Elder Xin, the hero who had once saved thousands of mortals, forcing two demonic monks to retreat at great personal cost.
Elder Xin’s gaze swept over the gathered disciples, sharp and penetrating. “Board the boat. Show the other sects that our sect reigns supreme!” His booming voice sent shivers through the crowd.
Cheers erupted. “Victory belongs to us!” the disciples roared, their confidence filling the air.
Elder Xin allowed a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on Yanwei and Jiang Yu. His gaze was inscrutable before he turned and stepped onto the massive flying boat.
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Xiao Ge didn’t even manage to speak, his eyes fixed on Yanwei with concern. Loyal to him as an older brother, he knew that if Yanwei fell, his life would be miserable. Xiao Ge owed Yanwei his life after a past incident that still haunted him.
The disciples followed, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and bloodlust. More than a hundred boarded, their collective killing intent so thick it seemed to weigh the very air. A mortal in their midst wouldn’t have lasted a second.
As the boat hummed with power, preparing to lift off, Jiang Yu stepped into Yanwei’s path. His voice was low, venom dripping from every word. “Just you wait. If you fall into my hands, I’ll make you regret ever being born.”
Yanwei didn’t respond. His hands trembled slightly, his gaze lowered, and his movements hesitant, betraying an underlying fear he could not fully suppress.
The disciples who noticed this smirked, whispering to each other. To them, it was clear: “Wu Shang has already lost.”
“Young Master Jiang, Elder Xin is calling you,” a guy said, bowing respectfully. He shot a final look at Yanwei, full of ridicule.
Jiang Yu glanced at Yanwei for a moment before turning away, following the guy. Yanwei’s expression remained dull, though the murmurs of his fellow disciples—some openly ridiculing him, others merely sneering—did nothing to faze him. He stood still, lost in thought.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he mused inwardly. “Why is a Rank 3 elder calling Jiang Yu? Is it for safety? A hidden trump card? Or perhaps a mission?” The sight of Jiang Yu’s eyes, burning with a mix of excitement and nervousness, only deepened his confusion.
Yanwei paused, a thought creeping into his mind. “No, if there’s something hidden in that secret realm, the geniuses from the other sects would already know and i would definitely be able to see it in their eyes.” He shook his head, determined to focus on the task at hand, unwilling to let his thoughts unravel further. “I can't afford to get distracted.”
The ridicule of the disciples mattered little to him. He had been called a demon by billions, mocked, and hated for longer than most could imagine. If he lost control of his emotions over the taunts of these Rank 1 children, he’d deserve nothing less than to smash his head into a wall and end it.