"It's fine," the veiled woman replied, her eyes carefully tracking Eryke's every movement, from the slightest twitch of his muscles to the subtle contours of his expression.

"Even though he is young, he can move his muscles with perfect precision and control them to limits I didn't even know were possible. His physical strength alone is comparable to a First-stage Martial Artist."

"Is he really that strong even without his Sword Will?" the disciple asked in disbelief.

"That's right, he is that strong," she whispered quietly. "He is the strongest person I've seen at his age. Unfortunately…" She shook her head. "If he hadn't killed the young emperor of the Million Gold Sect, there might still have been a chance for reconciliation. If he had joined our sect, I could have even helped him negotiate. But he chose the path of a devil, a path he will never recover from."

"It's unfortunate."

"Truly unfortunate. It seems even this arrogant young man doesn't have enough courage to attack the Million Gold Sect nor enough strength for it, either."

"What about his giant Sword Will, Master?" the disciple asked with a puzzled gaze.

"…" The sect leader paused for a moment and then whispered quietly, "It seems he has exhausted it."

"Exhausted?"

"For a Will to materialize outside, it requires immense mental energy. He had to fight the Bow Demon, and then we saw him fly using his Sword Will, fully materializing it physically. That is even more draining on one's mental capacity. It seems he underestimated it, and now he can't materialize it because of his arrogance." The sect leader quickly came to her own conclusion.

"What are you two doing here?" At that moment, a man with long gray hair and a beard appeared behind them, peering at the fight with an intrigued expression.

He looked like a middle-aged man, probably in his forties.

The zither woman flinched, startled, and hurriedly turned toward him, bowing her head slightly and politely. "It's an honor to meet the sect leader of the Thousand Iron Sect."

"It's nothing." He shook his head, casually ogling her body. "I saw you when you were just a child. You've grown into a fine woman."

A shiver ran down her spine, but she maintained a polite smile. 'I will kill this bastard when I get stronger.'

"Will you stop ogling my disciple, or should I gauge your eyes out?" the veiled woman replied calmly.

"Oops, sorry, sorry." The sect leader of the Thousand Iron Sect quickly backed away, cold sweat already soaking his back.

"You should be helping your son fight that man. Why are you here?"

"A cub cannot become a tiger unless he faces real danger. This is his trial," the middle-aged man said ruthlessly, with not a trace of filial pity in his tone.

"Are you sure? He might die soon if this continues."

"Hmph. I will help him if he reaches a near-death situation. Besides, there are other sects hunting him as well. In times of chaos, only those with true capability can rise to the top."

***

Eryke punched the Martial Artist in front of him; his fist tore straight through the armor and pierced the man's body, exiting from the other side.

"Weak." He kicked the man, flinging him away and leaving a streak of blood across the ground.

A Sword Will slashed down behind Eryke's back at the same time.

To a mortal observer, it looked as though thousands of sword strikes were descending simultaneously.

Eryke abruptly turned, his blue pupils flashing. He extended his hand and casually caught the true Sword Will.

"You…" a voice echoed from within the Sword Will.

"Hmph." Eryke tightened his grip, and it shattered, turning into countless fragments before dissolving into Qi. With only his physical strength, he had just destroyed a Second-stage Martial Artist.

Everyone watched in shock, eyes wide as they rubbed them, refusing to accept what they had seen.

"What's wrong?" Eryke grinned, extending his hand invitingly. "Come fight me."

"Hmph." A First-stage Martial Artist shot forward, his Will faintly manifesting outside his body, it was a halberd Will.

Eryke retracted his fist, curled his five fingers, and met the First-stage Martial Artist head-on.

Bang!

The First-stage Martial Artist was pushed back, coughing up blood. He lifted his head to look at Eryke, pupils dilated. "How…" he spoke, trembling.

"My strength is beyond your comprehension." Eryke quickly tried to follow up, but the other First-stage Martial Artists launched a coordinated attack, pushing him back again and again.

He fought them off, and he did defeat them, but other Martial Artists more quickly took their place, engaging him in another round.

It became a never-ending cycle: Eryke crushed them with his brutal raw strength, only to be met by fresh opponents while they recovered.

After all, Eryke was human too, and he grew exhausted after hundreds and thousands of exchanges.

In just a few fights, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his vision began to blur.

"It's over." The veiled woman shook her head calmly. "No matter how talented a Martial Artist is, he will eventually grow exhausted."

"Haha, I'm surprised you didn't take part in this Demon Hunt," the middle-aged man laughed, his pupils flashing fiercely. "Don't think you can ask for a cut of this."

"Don't worry, we have no interest," she replied emotionlessly.

Gradually, Eryke sank to his knees, exhaustion overtaking every fiber of his being. He could no longer summon even a fraction of his strength.

The Martial Artists sneered.

"Haha, even the devil grows exhausted eventually," one of them mocked.

Eryke slowly lifted his head to gaze at the Martial Artists before him. "There are so many of you… I should at least take a gift with me to the afterlife, shouldn't I?" His figure flashed.

The young master of the Thousand Iron Sect was distracted, and in that instant, Eryke was upon him. His fist pierced the young master's heart, extinguishing his vitality.

At the same time, countless weapons rained down on Eryke, piercing his body like a piñata, swords, arrows, halberds. He sank to his knees, nearing death, yet still managed a grin as he looked at the young master of the Thousand Iron Sect, even in his final moments while coughing blood.

Right after, a shadow slammed onto the ground with a terrifying boom, followed by a cry.

"My son…" The shadow belonged to the middle-aged man, the sect leader of the Thousand Iron Sect. His eyes were bloodshot, and his body trembled uncontrollably. His steps were unsteady as he slowly reached his dying son and knelt beside him.

"H-how could this happen to you?"

"Hehe, you shouldn't have sent this little brat to fight me, old man," Eryke mocked weakly, lying there.

The middle-aged man's rage ignited. His hand flashed like lightning, and in an instant, both of Eryke's arms were severed.

But strangely, the severed limbs dissolved into a black, inky liquid that vanished quickly.

"W-what… are you?" the man stammered with disbelief.

"Hahaha…" Eryke's voice rang out, calm and mocking even as he lay limbless, countless blades piercing his body. "All of you have walked right into my trap."

Despite his dying state, every word sent a wave of terror through the Martial Artists, freezing them in place.

"Nonsense." The Middle-aged Man roared and punched hard, carving a hole through Eryke's chest.

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