He materialized out of thin air, standing perfectly still in the center of the platform. No flash of light, no dramatic entrance. One moment the platform was empty, the next he was there.
The man was tall and lean, with silver hair tied back in a simple topknot. His robes were deep blue with silver trim, and a sword hung at his waist—plain scabbard, no decorations. But Long Chen could feel the weight of it.
The elder's face was stern, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to see through everything. His presence radiated authority without needing to flex his cultivation base. This was someone used to being obeyed.
The crowd went completely silent.
Even the core disciples at the top tier straightened slightly, giving him their full attention.
The elder stood there for a long moment, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping across the assembled disciples. He looked at each section—outer, inner, core—like he was cataloging every face.
