The Man’s Decree

“You lot dare to touch Mr. Chance?” Ararat and Kishor launched themselves into action.

In an instant, the sky lit up with dazzling streaks of sword light. The eight swordsmen found themselves instantly halted, their every move blocked by the relentless barrage of attacks from Ararat and Kishor.

The two guardians of the Celestial Stairway were locked in fierce combat with the swordsmen.

Stefan stood silently, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth as watched the chaos unfold.

“This is becoming more and more interesting…” murmured to himself.

Rostam, still reeling from the sheer power of Ararat’s swordsmanship, couldn’t hide his astonishment.

“Who are you? Why do you have such impressive sword skills?” asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Ararat responded with a mocking tone. “If we’re being honest, I could well be your grandfather, given how pitiful your swordsmanship is. It’s a disgrace to the name of a swordsman.”

With that, transformed into a streak of sword light, his blade descending with terrifying speed.

Rostam, sensing the overwhelming intensity of Ararat’s sword intent, instinctively stepped back, knowing could not face the attack head-on.

“Set up the formation!” shouted.

an instant, beams of light erupted from within them, each beam as sharp and precise as a sword.

Boom!

his longsword with precision, conjuring an impenetrable shield before him, deflecting

using his own blood to inscribe

actions, the other seven swordsmen followed

fingers, tracing intricate markings onto their swords

in perfect synchronization, the eight swordsmen hurled their swords into the air. The blades

formed greatsword hung suspended in mid-air, radiating an oppressive force so intense

a descending judgment, its immense pressure distorting the space around it. The eight swordsmen moved in unison, positioning themselves strategically as fresh droplets of

Ararat’s feet, the ground trembled violently before a sword array gradually took shape, locking within its

streams of sword energy surged forth, converging with the colossal greatsword

was the Impalement

was the pinnacle technique of the Eight Swordsmen of Demonia Mountain, once activated, even an Immortal Realm Seventh

knew better

never encountered before. His sword intent wasn’t just sharp-it was profound, carrying

at that moment they realized, Ararat wasn’t a cultivator from the Ethereal Realm. No, was far beyond that. He was

posed, they dared not show the slightest bit of carelessness. Without hesitation, they

swirling within the formation, a faint trace of disdain curling at