The elder's voice lowered slightly as he continued, as if even repeating the words felt wrong.
"They said the dead were moving," he said. "Not just twitching. But it's fighting, and knows martial arts."
A faint murmur spread across the hall.
One of the elders frowned deeply.
"That's impossible."
Another shook his head.
"No technique at this level allows that."
At the head of the hall, the Sect Master finally spoke.
Fuing's gaze sharpened slightly as he leaned forward.
"You're saying that dead people started attacking?" he said, his tone calm, but there was a clear edge beneath it. "You know well enough that it's impossible."
The elder met his gaze without backing down.
"That's what they said."
Silence followed.
Another elder crossed his arms.
"Refugees panic. They imagine things. Insects, monsters, that's believable. But dead men rising? That's a story."
Fuing's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, once, twice, then stopped.
His eyes moved across the room.
