For Wang Xiao, the coffin was more than a relic of the past—it was a symbol of what he had already surpassed.
The man within had once stood like a titan, his name carried on the winds as a force too vast to challenge. But to Wang Xiao, he was no longer a figure of awe, only a shadow cast by a fading legend. The coffin stood as proof that even the mighty would one day fall, and Wang Xiao had no intention of following that path.
To him, surpassing the past wasn't just a matter of power—it was inevitability. The world didn't belong to the dead; it belonged to those strong enough to claim it. And Wang Xiao? He had already taken what the man in the grave had left behind and made it his own.
Rustle... rustle...
The sound of fabric snapped Aurora out of her thoughts. She glanced over, startled, and froze. Wang Xiao had started stripping off his outer robes. His movements were unhurried, his muscles shifting under the dim light like a predator in no rush.
