The skull caved in completely, the skeletal body dropping before it even finished falling forward.

Then another, and another.

Each movement was simple, direct, efficient, and no wasted motion.

Within a few breaths, ten skeletons had already fallen around him, broken apart by nothing but his bare hands.

The people nearby stared for a split second.

Then the cheers came.

"It’s him!"

"Sect Master Fuing!"

"We’re saved!"

The surrounding fighters straightened almost immediately, their earlier tension easing just slightly as recognition spread through the area.

Respect.

Relief.

Both at once.

Aiden watched from above, his gaze sharpening.

’Oh, that’s the sect master of Clear Water Sect.’

Below, Fuing didn’t react to the cheers.

His eyes moved across the street once, taking everything in, the scattered formations, the broken lines, the remaining skeletons still pushing forward without any sense of fear.

Another one reached him. He stepped forward again. This time, his hand opened, and struck with his palm.

A dull thud echoed as the skeleton’s spine snapped in half, the body folding unnaturally before collapsing to the ground in pieces.

An elder from the Clear Water Sect stepped up behind him, slightly out of breath from the rush.

"Sect Master," he said, lowering his head briefly, "the situation is under control, but they keep coming from the outer side."

Fuing nodded once.

"They’re mindless," he said calmly. "They don’t retreat, and they don’t think."

His gaze shifted toward the direction of the cemetery, though he couldn’t see it from here.

"Which means someone is controlling them... or something caused this."

The elder frowned slightly.

"Then they must be a powerful force, if they have this kind of techniques."

Fuing didn’t answer immediately.

Another skeleton approached.

He stepped forward and crushed its skull with a single downward strike, bone fragments scattering across the ground.

Then he spoke.

"We might have a serious enemies this time."

Around him, the smaller forces straightened further, reorganizing now that a central figure had taken command. Their movements became more coordinated, more confident.

"Form tighter lines!" one of them shouted.

"Push them back toward the outer streets!"

"With Sect Master here, we can clear them!"

The earlier panic was gone.

Replaced by momentum.

From the rooftop, Aiden watched everything in silence.

Aiden’s gaze stayed fixed on the man below, watching every movement, every strike, every shift in position as if he were studying something rare.

"...He really is," Aiden murmured quietly. "A beacon of hope in this city."

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

The moment Fuing arrived, everything changed. The scattered resistance became organized. The hesitation disappeared. Even the fear in the air thinned out, replaced by something steadier.

Confidence.

Aiden leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he continued observing. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

’He might be stronger than a peak body tempering,’ he thought.

He could tell just by the way Fuing moved. No wasted strength, no panic, no unnecessary risks. Every strike ended something. Every step placed him in control of the situation.

Aiden’s fingers tapped lightly against his knee.

Right now, he had an option.

Vayne.

His strongest undead.

A peak body tempering practitioner in life, and even in death, that strength remained. His body was tougher than normal undead, his movements more refined, and most importantly, he retained the martial instincts he had when he was alive.

But Aiden’s eyes dimmed slightly as he thought about it.

’My mana...’

He could feel how empty he was.

Summoning Vayne was still possible.

But if something went wrong...

If Vayne was destroyed...

There would be no repairing him to continue fighting.

Aiden exhaled slowly.

"...Still," he muttered, his gaze sharpening again, "I want to see it."

Aiden lifted his hand slightly.

No chanting.

Just intent.

A faint ripple passed through the air beside him, subtle enough that no one below would notice. From that distortion, a figure began to take shape.

Tall, armored and hardened flesh.

A sword resting in his hand.

Vayne.

His hollow eyes held no emotion, no awareness, but his posture was steady, grounded. Even without thought, his body carried the memory of battle.

Aiden glanced at him once.

"Go," he said quietly.

Vayne moved.

No sound beyond the faint scrape of his feet leaving the rooftop.

He dropped.

Landing on the street below with a heavy thud that cracked the stone beneath him.

The sudden impact drew attention immediately.

"What was that?!"

People turned.

Fuing’s eyes shifted as well.

And then they saw him. Not like the skeletons.

This one stood straight.

Whole.

A sword in hand.

For a brief moment, the street fell quiet again.

"...That’s not the same," someone whispered.

Vayne didn’t wait.

His body moved.

Fast.

Faster than any skeleton there.

In a single step, he closed the distance to the nearest group of fighters, his sword rising before cutting down in a clean, controlled arc.

A man barely raised his weapon in time.

Clang.

The impact forced him down to one knee, the sheer weight behind the strike far beyond what the skeletons had shown.

"W-What the hell is this?!"

Vayne followed up immediately.

His second strike came from the side, low and precise, aimed to cut through the man’s defense.

The man barely managed to roll away, his heart pounding.

"That thing knows how to fight!"

That was the difference.

Unlike the others, Vayne didn’t move randomly.

Every motion had intent.

Every attack had purpose.

Fuing stepped forward.

His gaze locked onto Vayne instantly.

"...So there’s a stronger one," he said calmly.

Around him, the others instinctively backed away, giving space without even realizing it.

Vayne turned.

His hollow gaze met Fuing.

For a split second, neither moved.

Then, they stepped forward at the same time.

Vayne’s sword cut down in a direct, powerful strike.

The blade came down with force, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

Fuing didn’t dodge.

He stepped in.

His hand rose, fingers slightly curled, and met the flat of the blade head-on.

Clang.

The sound rang out, louder than before.

For a brief moment, steel and flesh held against each other.

Then the ground beneath Fuing’s feet cracked.

A shallow web of fractures spread outward, dust lifting into the air from the pressure alone.

The people watching felt it.

Not just the impact, but the weight behind it.

Fuing’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened slightly as he felt the force traveling through his arm.

"Not bad," he said quietly.

Then he pushed.

The blade was forced aside, just enough.

Vayne’s body adjusted instantly. His stance shifted, his grip tightening as he turned the deflected strike into another angle, cutting low this time, aiming for Fuing’s side.

Fuing stepped back half a step, just enough for the blade to pass in front of him. The edge brushed against his robe, slicing a thin line through the fabric without touching his skin.

He looked down at it for a fraction of a second.

Then back at Vayne.

"Can you talk?" he asked.

Vayne didn’t respond.

"I guess not."

Vayne moved again. Fuing turned his body slightly, letting the blade pass by his shoulder, then struck.

His fist shot forward, not wide, not exaggerated, but tight and controlled.

It landed squarely against Vayne’s chest.

Thud.

The impact was heavy, solid, like striking reinforced iron.

Vayne’s body slid back a few steps, his feet grinding against the stone before he stopped. The ground beneath him cracked again from the force he absorbed.

The sound echoed through the street, deeper than any strike before it.

People felt it in their chest.

From above, Aiden’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"...Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "He’s different."

Below, Fuing didn’t chase.

He stood where he was, his posture still relaxed, but his attention fully locked on Vayne now. The earlier ease in dealing with the skeletons was gone, replaced by something sharper.

Interest.

Another skeleton staggered toward him from the side, arms reaching blindly.

Fuing didn’t even look at it.

His hand moved once.

Crack.

The skull shattered, the body collapsing instantly.

But his gaze never left Vayne.

"As strong as peak body tempering," Fuing said slowly, as if analyzing out loud. "Better structure. And... a good martial arts."

Vayne moved again.

His feet pushed off the ground, closing the distance in a single burst. His sword cut forward in a fast, precise thrust, aimed straight for Fuing’s throat.

Fuing tilted his head slightly.

The blade passed just beside his neck, close enough to stir his hair.

At the same time, his hand snapped forward.

He struck Vayne’s wrist.

A sharp impact.

The sword shifted off its path.

Before Vayne could recover, Fuing stepped in and drove his palm into Vayne’s chest again.

Thud.

This time, the force was heavier.

Vayne’s body lifted slightly off the ground before crashing back several steps away, his feet carving shallow lines into the stone as he was pushed back.

Dust rose.

The surrounding fighters instinctively stepped further away, creating a wider circle without anyone needing to say it.

No one wanted to be caught in between.

Fuing rolled his wrist slightly, loosening it.

"...Tough body too." he said quietly.

He was studying.

Fuing let out a slow breath, his gaze still fixed on Vayne as the latter rose once more, steady and silent like nothing had happened.

"...I guess that’s enough," he said quietly.

There was no excitement in his voice now.

No curiosity.

Just decision.

The air around him began to change.

At first, it was subtle. A faint shift, like a breeze passing through a closed space. The loose dust on the ground stirred slightly, circling around his feet without any clear direction.

Then it grew stronger.

The people nearby felt it immediately. The ones closest took a few instinctive steps back, their expressions tightening without understanding why.

"...Sect Master?" one of them called out cautiously.