How Did This Hand Get Severed?

At the summit of a massive mountain range, someone had somehow sheared off the entire top of what should have been a jagged peak, turning it into a broad, level platform. The sky was fairly clear, yet there was no bright sunlight or blue-and-white sky. Instead, the pale red blood mist most commonly seen in the apocalypse shrouded the heavens, creating an inexplicable sense of oppression.

At the cliff's edge of this vast summit platform stood a well-dressed man. He stood tall and straight, radiating an air of nobility, like a king born to rule.

He faced the expansive view of endless mountains. From behind, neither his age nor his features could be discerned; only his short blue-violet hair stood out with striking clarity.

Far behind him on the enormous platform sat one of the finest helicopters of the Apocalypse Era. People sat inside the cabin with nervous expressions, while the rotors still turned slowly, clearly having only just landed.

Three meters behind the Blue-haired Man, Ye Zibo lay prostrate on the ground. His knees had gone sore from kneeling, his forehead pressed deeply against the earth. His entire body trembled without stop, cold sweat streaming down from his brow.

The atmosphere was eerily silent. No matter how violently Ye Zibo shook or how extreme the terror on his face became, the Blue-haired Man standing before him remained unmoved from beginning to end. He merely gazed at the distant mountains, as if he were wholly absorbed in the scenery.

In this suffocating atmosphere that could drive one mad, the helicopter's rotors in the distance finally stopped spinning. Even the clouds seemed to have drifted through several cycles.

Only then did the Blue-haired Man, still facing away from Ye Zibo, slowly speak. His voice was unexpectedly young, devoid of emotion, yet