Chung Myung’s cold gaze remained fixed ahead.

In the past, he would have been at the very front, wielding his sword with unparalleled ferocity. But now, he stood firm and unmoving, scanning the battlefield with sharp eyes, missing no detail.

The swordsmen showed no hesitation, no wavering at the tips of their blades. Their movements were precise and purposeful, the actions of warriors who understood exactly what needed to be done.

Iron is hardened by the hammer’s strike, and swordsmen grow stronger with every drop of blood they shed. The countless hours of sweat and blood shed by Mount Hua’s disciples had forged them into something far greater than mere novices.

And now, all that accumulated effort was exploding forth on this battlefield.