The wind had stopped.
Ash drifted slowly through the shattered remains of the mountain, falling like gray snow across broken stone and rivers of drying blood.
At the center of the ruined battlefield—
Qin Morian lay trembling.
His body was ruined.
His breath came in ragged bursts.
He tried to crawl backward.
His remaining hand scraped against the cracked stone, dragging his broken body across the ground inch by inch.
But the pressure—
The pressure was unbearable.
Step.
A sound echoed across the battlefield.
Stone cracked.
Step.
Another.
Every step Shaurya took felt like a mountain falling onto Qin Morian's soul.
It wasn't physical weight.
It was something deeper.
A suffocating force pressing directly on his spirit.
Qin Morian's body trembled uncontrollably.
His mind screamed.
Move.
Run.
Escape.
But his body refused.
Across the battlefield—
Shaurya walked toward him.
Slowly.
Step.
Crack.
