A Sword Protects Its Own
"Fellow cultivator, what do you mean?"
The moment those words left Ronan's mouth, the atmosphere across the battlefield turned cold.
Dust still drifted through the air from the earlier clash. Broken stone littered the ground, and a faint smell of scorched earth lingered beneath the mountain wind. The surrounding cultivators instinctively took several steps back.
Because everyone could feel it.
Shera was angry.
Not the kind of anger that exploded instantly.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that quietly gathered beneath the surface like a storm waiting to split the heavens apart.
"What do I mean?"
Shera laughed from anger.
"Hah... hahahaha..."
His figure slowly descended from the flying sword. Black robes fluttered under the wind while his eyes locked onto Ronan like blades.
"As an elder of the Prison Holy Sect, you bully the weak and attack students of Celestis Academy."
His voice suddenly dropped.
