The moment the name was spoken, the Grand Ceremonial Hall fell into a strange, heavy silence.
Countless gazes converged at once on Bai Zihan.
Some eyes burned with admiration. Others carried unconcealed pity.
A few were filled with thinly veiled disgust. Yet beneath it—lurking at the deepest layer—was fear.
Even if everyone knew that Bai Zihan was crippled now, that fact alone could not erase the images burned into their memories.
The battlefield.
The rain of blood.
The calm, almost indifferent expression as enemies were cut down one after another.
Many present had witnessed it personally.
Others had only heard the reports.
But whether seen or heard, the effect was similar.
A scar had been carved into their hearts.
Those who once believed they could compete with Bai Zihan—those who had secretly measured themselves against him—had long since abandoned such thoughts.
The memory of Bai Zihan slaughtering enemies they themselves could not even face still lingered vividly.
