The entire sect fell silent at the words of the sect master. Even the forges—whose hammers had once pounded like the heartbeat of the heavens—stilled, waiting for the execution of one insignificant Spirit Flow cultivator. And for what? To save face? To mask the hidden problems lurking within this spatial dimension? Wen Ran could hardly believe that all of this was happening to him. He had seen unreasonable people before. He had seen men kill without cause. Even he himself was no innocent. But to publicly declare someone dead over an old grudge?
Wen Ran's heartbeat slowed, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Every gaze in the square was locked onto him, and every expression he met betrayed the same desire—the silent yearning for his death.
