This was the first time Silas had truly understood the meaning of absolute powerlessness. It was a cold, suffocating weight that pressed down on his chest, making every breath a struggle.
The Third-Rank Realm.
In the entire the Empire, aside from a handful of ancient recluses whose names were whispered only in legends, this rank represented the absolute pinnacle of martial prowess. Silas had always harbored the unshakable conviction that he would one day stand among such giants—that he would eventually surpass them all. But reality was a cruel teacher, and the lesson tonight was simple: greatness required survival, and survival was no longer a guarantee.
Beads of icy sweat broke out across his forehead, stinging his eyes. Before his feet could even find purchase on the uneven ground,
