"Other than me, who could stand against Xiao Jin?"
The words drifted lightly into the night wind.
Yet they were like a boulder crashing into a tranquil lake.
The scene fell deathly silent.
"This..."
Yan Wushuang's mouth fell open, and for a long while, he could not close it.
Luo Qingyi's fingers, resting on her short blade, suddenly tightened. Unconcealed shock churned in her eyes.
How could he dare say something like that?
Even when the six factions had formed an alliance, none of the sect masters or clan heads had dared make such a claim.
Even Su Qinghan's hand holding her teacup finally paused, the rim hovering at her lips without entering her mouth.
Daoist Fencang stared at Wang Yuan for three breaths, then suddenly threw back his head and laughed.
His laughter was rough and booming, echoing between the Cliff Faces of Broken Cloud Ridge and shaking the campfire until it leaped twice.
His red brows stood on end as he laughed, the wrinkles on his face bunching together.
Yet there was not a trace of delight in that smile—only fury and mockery he could scarcely suppress.
"What an arrogant brat!"
Daoist Fencang abruptly cut off his laughter. Under the firelight, his crimson face darkened until it seemed ready to drip blood.
"You, at the Early-stage Organ Refining, dare spout such wild nonsense? Do you know who Xiao Jin is?"
"Do you know what it means for someone at Peak Organ Tempering to wield the Demon Blade?"
"Even this old man, at Late-Stage Organ Tempering, would not dare claim he could stop one slash from him. Yet you, a mere young pup who has just broken through—"
"So I never said I would stop one slash."
Wang Yuan calmly cut him off. He remained seated atop the boulder,