On the surface, the man launching furious attacks held a decisive advantage. Yet no one knew that this seemingly powerful figure was quietly suffering beneath the surface. Though each punch he landed caused the golden aura to dent and ripple, making the entire golden shield tremble as though it would soon be torn apart, there was little anyone knew about the resistance he encountered. Every time his hands or feet made contact with the golden light, he felt a firm, resilient rebound force that grew stronger with the intensity of his strikes—his arms and legs were now sore, and he suspected they would swell immediately upon his collapse. Moreover, the golden aura itself proved remarkably resilient; the areas that had been dented would instantly regain their original shape after he released his pressure, as if they had never been struck at all. Even with continuous attacks on the same spot, the dent remained only slightly indented, never deepening further. Thus, the sturdy man's attacks continued for a while, and the golden aura still trembled steadily, as if poised to shatter at any moment. Yet everyone's thoughts had now reversed completely—they had clearly realized that the man could not breach the shield; his immense strength only caused slight tremors, unable to fully destroy it. As a result, Jia Tianlong abandoned the idea of sending anyone forward, and even the dwarf himself grew calm. However, due to his earlier embarrassment, the golden-clad master now harbored a sense of irritation and cast a more venomous gaze upon the man. Nevertheless, under the relentless onslaught of attacks, his body could no longer maintain balance, and his spellcasting frequently went awry. So, he simply stopped chanting and fixed his eyes steadily on the man, muttering in a low, incomprehensible dialect that no one else could understand. Yet this man remained untouched by all these changes, still fiercely attacking the golden enclosure. While everyone else had begun to believe he would never tire, never pause. Suddenly, a powerful roar of "Rise!" echoed from behind him. At once, the faces of Wang Juechu and the others on the opposite side turned pale, and they all shouted simultaneously, "Be careful!" Han was startled and quickly leapt to his left, turning to look. There, a hazy glow flashed by like a lightning bolt, passing just beside where he had stood. Han was taken aback, yet soon reassured himself—having narrowly avoided this projectile, he could now safely gather with his two senior brothers and rest easy. As he was still pondering this, a sharp pain surged through his right arm. He glanced down, only to hear a wave of exclamations rise—his two senior brothers' voices among them, filled with growing concern. Han paused, momentarily bewildered. Then, a flash of light revealed a gray streak slicing through his chest, exactly matching the projectile he had just dodged. Han Zhong was startled and furious, wanting to speak, but his body suddenly collapsed with a "thud" to the ground. At that moment, he realized his right arm had been severed at the shoulder—blood pouring steadily from the wound. "What on earth is going on?" the man murmured, full of questions and indignation, then fainted, his eyes rolling back. Though he never understood what had happened just before he died, the members of the Wild Wolf Clan and the Seven Immortals Sect watched the entire event unfold with clear understanding. They saw that, as the dwarf finished his incantation and uttered the word "rise," a strip of gray light shot out from the black box, circled the dwarf's head, and then, following the direction of his finger, flew straight toward the man. Though Han Zhong swiftly leaned to avoid the first blow that pierced his chest, the gray light, brushing past his shoulder, gently slipped down his arm. It seemed the light was so sharp that the man was completely unaware of the injury as it occurred. Then, even more astonishing things occurred. After being dodged, the gray glow suddenly made a sharp turn, reversing direction and rushing back toward the man at a distance of nearly ten paces, effortlessly claiming his life. Everyone was left speechless, their eyes fixed in unison on the gray light that had returned to the dwarf’s head and now hovered there, circling and wavering. The image of "flying sword" naturally rose in the minds of most. Though they were unaware of the existence of immortals, they had heard many tales of flying swords in legendary stories. How remarkably similar this gray glow was to the legendary flying swords wielded by sword-immortals—almost identical. Could it be that this unassuming dwarf was none other than the very sword-immortal of legend? Most people now gazed at the Golden Light Monk with deep reverence, for the title of "Master of the Sword" still held considerable weight among ordinary folk. At this moment, the Golden Light Monk stood tall and proud, utterly confident, skillfully manipulating the gray glow that danced up and down above his head, weaving it into a long, serpentine gray dragon that amazed the crowd of the Wild Wolf Clan. In contrast, the side of the Qi Xuan Sect remained silent, growing increasingly lifeless and subdued. While the faction led by Jia Tianlong had gained momentum thanks to the presence of the Sword Immortal, the Qi Xuan Sect now found itself uncertain and wavering, its morale significantly diminished. Among all present, only Han Li experienced genuine excitement upon seeing the gray glow. He realized that the incantations and gestures the Golden Light Monk used to summon and control the gray light were precisely identical to those he himself had learned in his "Art of Moving Objects." Though he wasn't certain whether the gray glow was actually a flying sword, he knew beyond doubt that the very object being manipulated was the one governed by the Art of Moving Objects. Now, Han Li is entirely consumed by thoughts of killing to seize treasures—it seems his interest in immortals is growing ever stronger.