Streaks of sword-light ignited the heavens like dazzling fireworks, stealing the very souls of those who witnessed them. Amidst this breathtaking spectacle, the resonant sound of a sword being sheathed rang out—a clear, solemn bell that seemed to call the lost souls back to their bodies.2

When Yue Zifeng sheathed his sword, the experts watching in the distance suddenly felt a wave of dizziness, as though their souls had been momentarily severed from their bodies. Only when the sword was fully sheathed did they feel released from its invisible grip. Cold sweat poured down their faces as horror gripped them.0

That sword was a nightmare incarnate, a blade that made ghosts weep and gods tremble. Its mere presence decided life and death, leaving no room for resistance.0

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