The air in the arena seemed to freeze for a moment.
Ian stood on the scorched ground, his silver-white magical armor still fitted snugly against his body, wand clenched tightly in hand, his gaze calm and resolute. His breathing was steady, his heartbeat normal, as though what he had just experienced had not been a confrontation with a god, but an ordinary magical experiment.
Across from him, Anubis still stood there. Beneath the golden Jackal Head Mask, those deep eyes watched him quietly.
The trial was over.
Ian had won.
He had won this confrontation with Death not through magic, nor through strength, but through will, wisdom, and a complete challenge to the rules.
But just as Anubis prepared to turn and leave, handing the Styx Oar to Ian, Ian suddenly spoke.
"Anubis."
His voice was not loud, yet it carried an unusual calmness and composure.
"I have to admit something."
Anubis stopped. He did not turn around, but his golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"My power... isn't paradox."
Ian slowly raised a hand and looked at his palm, his tone carrying a hint of almost self-mocking amusement.
"It's merely power I seized."
"Paradox is simply power I seized in the past. I wasn't born powerful. I just... never refuse anything that can make me stronger."
That was Ian's philosophy of cultivation.
He paused, staring directly at Anubis's back. "I don't deny that I'm a plunderer. I'm merely... a plunderer who knows what he's doing."
Mainly because Ian saw that the other party's attitude was fairly good, so he was considerably more sincere as well. That was the sort of person he was—when he encountered someone sincere, he became Sincere Ian.
The air seemed to solidify at that moment. Anubis did not respond immediately. Instead, he slowly turned around, his golden