At the centre of the Concealed Dragon River.
The leaders of the clan had all surrendered; bitterness and helplessness covered their faces.
Hovering above them was a youth with sharp gold eyes. He held a metal fan, but the strangest thing about him was the layer of metal covering his skin, even his clothes and hair seemed to be metallic.
His icy aura spread into the space nearby, almost freezing it - not even a wisp of breeze could be felt.
"Lord Ron, the Twelve Clans have surrendered and are willing to serve the Iron Dragon Clan. Do you really need to kill us?"
The First Elder of the Cloudword Clan tried his best to suppress his anger as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
As a sword cultivator of the True Mystic Rank, he had managed to get close enough to attack Lord Ron with his sword, but it was no use. His opponent was unmatched. Worse still, he had been injured by a terrifying rebounding force.
