Mid-April. The sky is clear and bright.
In Southvale Province, outside Iron Sun Sect.
Whish-whish.
A gentle breeze drifts through the mountains.
The setting sun dips below the horizon, its quiet light illuminating this chaotic stretch of forest. Some trees, thick as a bowl, have been snapped clean in half, exposing pale wood fibers; some neatly stacked boulders now lie scattered, strewn across the fractured ground.
As for the giant stone gate of Iron Sun Sect—
The giant gate, crafted from granite and Jue-Ore blocks and carved with mysterious patterns, has long since collapsed with a thunderous crash. Only the remaining gate pillars on either side, three or four meters tall, still barely stand.
It looked just like the aftermath of an earthquake.
A hundred meters from the collapsed gate, Warren Wang arrives in a rush, covered in dust and anxiety. His face is worn and weathered; his right arm gently cradles his son, Wang Chong. He stands there, stunned, eyes wide with disbelief.
"What happened?"
"What on earth is going on?"
The golden dusk illuminated Warren Wang's shocked face.
As a member of Southvale Province's Nineteenth Defense Formation, Warren Wang looked around in bewilderment, his eyes filled with disbelief. Emotions surged within him, wild and tumultuous like crashing waves.
Faced with a scene like this—
Even someone as seasoned as Warren Wang was left speechless.
Pat.
Tap.
Andrew Han, dressed in a light blue coat, walked away expressionlessly, his brows slightly furrowed as if deep in thought.
Just moments earlier—
Just moments ago, Warren Wang had arrived by helicopter, rushed toward Iron Sun Sect, and then saw Andrew Han calmly stepping out from the shattered gate, handing his son Wang Chong over with a faint smile.
He wanted to speak, but stopped himself.
"Impossible."
"How could this be possible?"
Warren Wang, cradling his son whose forehead was scraped and bleeding, follows closely behind, sometimes lost, sometimes glancing back at Iron Sun Sect behind him, as if shrouded in dust.
"This is a Martial Arts Sect."
Warren Wang sneaks a glance at Andrew Han standing beside him, inwardly astonished: "Even if it's called 'small,' it's still a Martial Arts Sect! Iron Sun Sect has stood for centuries, with a grand history—it's a dominant force in Southvale Province."
The Martial Arts World is governed by the Martial Arts Alliance.
But the true backbone remains the Martial Arts Sects!
In recent years, martial arts students and countless independent practitioners have emerged, but none can compare to the Martial Arts Sects.
Even a small Martial Arts Sect is guarded by titled Martial Lords of the three-step rank, with powerful Martial Lord elders, numerous Martial Generals, and countless Martial Artists among its disciples.
As the sun sets, only the golden afterglow remains.
The mountain wind continues to blow, rustling the leaves.
The two figures leave the Iron Sun Sect grounds. Another hundred meters ahead lies Warren Wang’s helicopter.
"Cough, cough."
Warren Wang hesitates for a moment, looks at his unconscious son lying in his arms, and grits his teeth to ask: "What happened here? Did your master, Miles Ning, intervene? I was only ten minutes late, and the place has become like this."
These questions swirl in his mind, full of confusion.
Even a natural disaster like an earthquake would hardly compare.
After firing off these questions, Warren Wang’s heart tightens, stealing glances at Andrew Han’s calm face.
Suddenly—
"It's nothing."