Grand Elder Feng Xuan felt the mortal palm touch his chest bone.
Even through the choking, molasses-thick thickness of the container, the realization of total defeat struck the ancient sovereign like an ice pick through the heart.
His slow-motion fist hung suspended eight inches from Lin Ke’s jaw, entirely incapable of closing the distance.
His mutated, black eyes twitched with suicidal delirium.
“If I can’t reign...” Feng Xuan’s mental roar echoed through the container, bypassing the sluggish air through raw spiritual intent. “...then no one shall cultivate! Iron Sword Province shall become a crater of dead ash!”
Inside Feng Xuan’s chest, his Soul Formation core began to destabilize.
He wasn’t casting a technique.
He was executing a total core overload. Forcing his tightly packed spiritual dantian past its holding threshold to trigger a suicidal void-spark blast.
