The old man remained motionless for several seconds.
His breathing was heavy, not from physical exertion, but from humiliation. Part of his sleeve had vanished, reduced to ashes that still drifted through the hot air.
His arm still burned, a superficial burn throbbing with every beat of his heart.
But what truly burned was not his skin.
It was his pride.
For decades, he had cultivated. For decades, he had faced beasts, killed enemies, accumulated resources, and survived in a world where only the strong remained alive.
His reputation in Red Smoke City was feared. His name was whispered with respect.
And now...
A young man in the Core Formation Realm was forcing him to retreat.
Not merely retreat.
He was damaging his confidence.
The old man's eyes narrowed as he observed Kyrian.
The boy remained completely unharmed.
