With just one stroke, the world split, and a blanket of silence descended over the land, stretching for miles without a trace of snow.
Coen Stone's face twisted in terror as he was cleaved into oblivion, his soul dissipating into nothingness.
"You and I belong to the same generation," Braydon Neal murmured softly.
To slay peers of his own generation—could anyone fault Braydon?
Sensing imminent danger, Conan Yokley attempted to flee, his teeth clenched in desperation as he prepared to employ a forbidden technique for escape.
But Braydon turned, and with a mere thought, he collapsed the world and shattered space, leaving no route for escape.
Fleeing meant plunging into an abyss of eternal darkness, leaving behind not even a trace of remains.
"Braydon Neal!" Conan's complexion drained of color. "I'm a direct disciple of the Golden Dragon Pavilion. My elder brother is—"
