A basin.
A hundred-meter-tall statue, neither quite god nor demon, stood proudly within it.
Its body looked coated in gold paint, and it sat cross-legged.
Centipede-like arms covered its body, and nine faces grew atop its head.
It exuded an eerie aura.
At its feet were thousands upon thousands of Awakened.
The man leading them wore a black martial arts uniform and had a powerful build.
He had short hair, was in his thirties, and had deep-set eyes.
Most striking were the gold and silver rings on his arms.
The eighteen iron rings produced piercing metallic clashes with the wind of his punches.
Every punch unleashed a savage gust that left a hundred-meter-long trench in the ground.
Utterly overwhelming.
This was the man who had reached the pinnacle of the Dragon Kingdom in the early Apocalypse.
Xuanyuan.
The First Fist of All Time.
On a mountain peak outside the basin.
An old man from the Holy See, holding a scepter and wearing a crown, and over a hundred West High Combatants stared warily at the man.
"Xuanyuan..."
The Pope muttered, his expression grim.
Humiliating memories flooded his mind.
Because of that man, the Pope had become the disgrace of the Holy See.
"Shall we charge down now? The Ancestor wounded their main force. Fewer than thirty percent can still fight."
The Western Awakened high combatants, who had never experienced Xuanyuan's fists, asked eagerly.
"No..."
The Pope refused decisively. "Until Xuanyuan is dead, we must not act. Otherwise... we'll be the ones who die."
"Is he really that terrifying?"
The other high combatants all looked scornful.
They all thought Xuanyuan had beaten the courage out of the Pope.
"Anyone who wants to die can try. I won't stop you." Already full of grievances, the Pope simply closed his eyes.
"Then we