A sharp gust of mountain wind parted the gray clouds hanging over the sunken arena as a pillar of blinding, pristine white light descended from the highest peaks.
The seventy thousand spectators instantly fell to their knees, their foreheads pressing against the cold stone balustrades in absolute, reverent silence. From the heart of the descending radiance stepped Sect Master Justin, his white silk robes embroidered with interlocking golden dragons that shimmered with the terrifying, suffocating majesty of the True Origin Realm. He hovered three inches above the shattered crimson sand, his long silver hair floating weightlessly as his deep, calm gaze swept across the ruined halberd, the unconscious form of the fallen champion, and finally rested upon Caleb Conway.
Justin did not ask for
