His body was so thin that it resembled a skeleton wrapped in dried skin. White hair hung loosely over his shoulders, and his eyes remained closed as he sat cross-legged in meditation.
At first glance, he looked like a corpse that had been sitting there for hundreds of years.
Yet despite his frail appearance, the moment Wu Haruto laid eyes on him, his expression immediately became respectful.
There was no trace of the dignity he displayed before the elders.
Nor was there any of the authority expected of the Sect Master.
Only reverence and awe remained.
Wu Haruto straightened his red robes and carefully approached.
His footsteps slowed unconsciously.
The closer he came, the greater the pressure he felt.
It was not a pressure intentionally released by the old man.
Rather, it was the natural oppression produced by a being whose existence had already surpassed ordinary cultivators.
Finally, when he was several meters away, Wu Haruto stopped.
