On the broad road, seven or eight carriages were moving slowly. Under the scorching sun, the guards surrounding the carriages were drenched in sweat, their growing frustration manifesting in a constant stream of irritated shouts. Jia Li, one of the two remaining elders of the Jia Li family—now a Tier-Three Grand Battle Master, a strength that ranked among the top in Wutan City—had been entrusted with protecting the medicinal cargo. This clear indication of the family's high regard for the herbs. Yet it seemed Jia Li had not yet received the news of Li Xi's disappearance. If he had, he would likely return the high-value herbs immediately. Sitting in one of the carriages, Jia Li sat cross-legged, motionless despite the carriage's steady jolting. After two days of continuous travel, the usually pampered elder found himself growing increasingly restless. "It's all the damn Xiao family's fault. They'll eventually bring this whole operation to its knees." "Growled in frustration, Jialu slightly leaned back, his gaze passing through the window to the neatly stacked, low-grade herbs piled behind. A quiet sense of resignation settled on his otherwise impassive face. While the Naji made transportation remarkably convenient, each low-grade Naji offered only a few square meters of space—enough to carry these herbs would likely require at least five such containers. Yet, Naji were both costly and rare; even the entire Jialu family possessed no more than two. Thus, they had resorted to using heavier, less efficient vehicles. "Heard this, Galen's expression darkened. They had already entered the outskirts of Uthan City—who dared intercept them here? A flash of cold light passed through his eyes. Galen nodded slightly, stepped down from the carriage, and quickly moved to the forefront of the convoy. Indeed, he found a man in a black robe seated casually on a large stone in the middle of the road. Though he could not see the man's face clearly, Galen immediately sensed that the gaze beneath the robe carried an unwelcoming intent. 'Who are you, and why do you block our path?' Galen said, scanning the figure with steady eyes. 'Are you from the Galen family?' a deep, elderly voice emerged from beneath the black robe. Galen's face tightened slightly, his arms sweeping out. With a gesture, he ordered his thirty or so guards to draw their weapons, their expressions now sharp and wary toward the enigmatic figure in the black robe. 'Well, it seems we haven't made a mistake.'" Observing Galien's reaction, the cloaked figure smiled faintly and stepped down from the massive stone. Then, he moved slowly toward the caravan. With a cold, stern expression, Galien reached for a giant bow from one of his guards, drew it fully to his shoulder, and released the arrow—sending it with a sharp, piercing wind aimed precisely at the cloaked man's throat. The arrow whistled with a sound that seemed to shatter the very soul, yet when it reached just one meter from the cloaked figure, a sudden surge of pale, vibrant flame erupted from nowhere, engulfing the arrow. Instantly, the arrow dissolved into dark ash. At this sight, Galien's face tightened slightly, a sense of unease rising within him. Clearly, this cloaked figure was no ordinary strength—he himself was a formidable warrior, at least on par with a Grand Duelist. Exhaling slowly, Gales took a long spear of deep blue color from the servant behind him. A faint blue aura began to seep from his body, making the surrounding air noticeably damp—clearly indicating that his internal cultivation technique leaned toward a slightly cool, water-based nature. Gripping the spear tightly, Gales stared fiercely at the cloaked figure. After a slight adjustment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, and his body surged forward as a beam of blue light, directly charging toward the increasingly close cloaked figure. Midway through the air, Gales' expression grew solemn. With a sudden twist of the spear, the aura around it burst forth brilliantly, and the shaft itself resonated with a series of rhythmic gun-like murmurs. "Wave upon wave!" "Wave upon wave!" This was a low-tier, pyramidal technique—Gales' most advanced one to date. Through years of dedicated cultivation, he had refined it to a masterful level. When he fully deployed it, knowing his opponent was a six-star Great Combatant, he could not afford to underestimate him. As Galé's roar fell, a surge of energy within the blue-lit lance instantly transformed into a massive blue wave, which rose skyward and then crashed down upon the black-robed figure standing motionless in place. Near the caravan, spectators watching their elder display his prowess, erupted in cheers and applause, their voices rising with growing admiration. Along their journey, they had encountered several bandits—each and every one of them had fallen to Galé's lance—now, many believed, yet another would meet the same fate. The blue wave rolled across the heavens, and within its surge, countless subtle glimmers intensified, as the lance flashed forward with lightning speed, plunging straight toward the black-robed figure's head. "Die!" Galé's face tightened with fierce determination, a cold smile spreading across his features as the power in his lance surged forth. As the spear was about to reach his head, the cloaked figure slowly lifted his gaze, revealing a clear, youthful face under the sunlight, which flashed into Galé's narrowed eyes. "This... is Xiao's young heir?" Galé's eyes narrowed in recognition, his inner rage swelling. The spear closed in steadily, yet just as the attack was about to make contact, a crisp, pale flame surged suddenly from the cloaked figure's body, eventually spreading like a wildfire, sweeping toward Galé in the sky. The pale flame streaked across the heavens, and the crowd instantly felt a sudden chill on their skin—waves, spear shafts, figures—all vanished without a trace. Cheers on the path abruptly ceased. Galé's family guards, like ducks whose necks had been severed, opened their mouths wide, gasping desperately, their earlier confidence gradually turning into terror. Their gaze now fixed upon the cloaked figure, filled with the dread of a demon. He glanced indifferently at the attendants. With a slow extension of his hand, several clusters of pale flames gradually emerged. He lightly flicked his fingers, and the flames shot forth, finally landing gently upon several carriages in full view of all present. "Boom!" A soft, dull sound, the carriages—along with the medicinal supplies inside—crumbled into fine powder under the collective stunned gaze of everyone.