In the quiet hall, everyone stared in stunned silence at Mo Cheng, effortlessly restrained by the black-robed man at his neck. Without a word, they all involuntarily swallowed hard. Just minutes ago, Mo Cheng had been charting his ambitious plans to unify the northeastern provinces of Jiamai Empire—yet now, within that same span of time, his very life hung in the balance, easily held in the other's grasp. This dramatic shift—from visionary leader to mere object of manipulation—felt utterly unreal to those gathered. Yet no matter how unreal it seemed, the undeniable reality on display was stark: the renowned Master of the Mo Clan, the ruthless Mo, now stood on the brink of becoming a mere puppet in the hands of others. Hearing the cold words emanating from beneath the black robe, the attendees in the hall suddenly felt an unexpected sense of relief. Regardless of what happened, if the Mo School truly lost its pillar, Mo Cheng, then the smaller and mid-sized factions would gain the opportunity to break free from Mo's control. Thus, although the Mo School had many allies present, none of them stepped forward to offer support. Under everyone's gaze, the lines of Egé's weathered face softened into a wry smile. Honestly, after witnessing Mu Cheng's helpless fate, he had no desire to be the one to step forward. Yet, no matter how he tried to argue, it was well known that Yunlan Sect was the backing force behind the Mu family. If this mysterious black-robed figure merely intended to give Mu Cheng a stern reprimand, Egé would have remained silent. But now, clearly, the man was determined to strike hard. At this point, Egé could no longer remain passive—after all, if Mu Cheng were to be killed right before his eyes, he would surely face reprimands upon returning to Yunlan Sect. Egé's voice had indeed caused the black-robed figure to pause momentarily. The man turned his head, calmly glancing at Egé on the dais, while a faint, clear white flame continuously danced upon his left hand. Staring at Ge Ye for a long while, the cloaked figure then turned his head again, his cold gaze from beneath the cloak fixed firmly on the pale-faced Mu Cheng, his voice cold as ice. "Hand over the Qing Lin!" "L... Lord, I truly don't know what you're talking about," Mu Cheng stammered, his face tinged with pain from the piercing intensity of the gaze. The figure within the cloak clearly sighed, shook his head, and raised his hand sharply. A crisp, pale flame danced around his palm, then swept across with sudden force—precisely from Mu Cheng's right arm, cleaving it off at the root. Hand passed, arm severed! The cloaked figure's palm moved like a sharp blade, cutting through Mu Cheng's arm with no resistance at all. Instantly, Mu Cheng's entire right arm detached from his shoulder and fell with a striking visual impact onto the vibrant red carpet beside him. At the root of the arm, no fresh blood flowed out—only a charred streak, clearly indicating that the intense heat carried by the black-robed man's palm had completely scorched the blood vessels at the very moment his hand passed over it. The sudden, searing pain of the severed arm caused Master Mo Cheng's face to twist violently, appearing both terrifying and agonized. A high-pitched, piercing cry of unbearable suffering burst from his mouth, sending a shiver of cold through every person in the hall. "So fierce..." someone murmured, their gaze trembling as they scanned the severed arm on the ground. With a gulp, they exchanged glances, pale-faced. In mere moments, this powerful warrior, renowned throughout the eastern provinces of Jiamar Empire, had been reduced to a paralyzing disability. The sheer contrast was almost surreal—like they were still living in a dream. Holding his broken arm, Mo Cheng's body trembled continuously, and a fierce, venomous rage flashed in his lowered eyes as he whispered in a low roar, "Mo family members—kill this rogue!" Hearing Mo Cheng's urgent roar, the Mo family youths around him exchanged startled glances. Though deeply afraid, they had previously been compelled to bear their fear, gritting their teeth and charging fiercely at Xiao Yan with blazing fury. Ignoring the youths charging toward him, the black-robed figure maintained a calm, detached gaze upon Mo Cheng. Meanwhile, those Mo family members who reached within five meters of him were suddenly enveloped in a strange, pale white ice layer that surged from their feet, transforming them into glowing, pale ice sticks. In less than half a minute, dozens of lifelike ice sculptures materialized seemingly out of thin air within the hall, instantly quieting the atmosphere once more. A cool, crisp chill enveloped the space, making everyone hold their breath. Gazing at the fifteen or so young Mo family disciples who had been frozen solid without any prior warning, Nalan Yanran and Ge Ye on the dais both took in a sharp breath. The black-robed warrior’s unusual attack and his ruthless precision left them genuinely stunned. After a fierce wave of assault that left nearly a dozen of them turned into ice statues, the remaining Mo disciples hurried back, trembling and unable to advance further despite Mo Cheng’s frantic cries. "Submit? Or not?" The black-robed warrior’s voice remained as youthful and calm as ever, unaffected by the chaos—his composed demeanor suggested that the earlier slaughter had not been his doing. "Who are you?!" Gasping heavily, Mo Cheng lifted his face, scarred and fierce, his gaze locked firmly on the figure within the black robe, his voice hoarse. "You're wearing down my dwindling patience...” Despite Mo Cheng's proud demeanor, the black-robed figure showed no sign of admiration—his quiet tone carried a growing impatience and coldness, as if his patience were being steadily eroded. He raised his hand once more, palm outstretched, slightly inclined, and the pale flames surged upward. "You've killed me—then that little girl will surely follow right after!" With his eyes tightly narrowed, Mo Cheng's face contorted rapidly, and finally, he could bear it no longer, letting out a sharp cry. "So Qinglin is still alive..." Hearing Mo Cheng's cry, the black-robed figure exhaled in relief, murmuring softly to himself. "Let someone from your Mohist faction speak up and hand over the girl you've captured. Otherwise, today, I will purge your entire Mohist clan!" The man in black turned slightly, speaking softly to the group of Mohist youths. Though his tone was calm, those who had witnessed his ruthless actions could no longer doubt the sincerity of his words. Instantly, one youth stepped back and vanished into the hall. "Useless! No one in this Mohist household dares to defy my orders!" Mo Cheng gasped, twisting his neck to try to free himself from the hands tightly gripping his throat—but in vain. "Say one more word, and I'll burn out your tongue." The slender hands hovered before Mo Cheng's face, their surface glowing with a pale, cold flame that reflected a chilling radiance in his eyes, causing him to choke on the words he had nearly formed. Not long after the young Mohist disciple vanished, a large group of people rushed into the hall, their faces filled with panic. Upon seeing the disheveled state of Mo Cheng, everyone went utterly still—how could they have imagined that the Grand Elder, who always carried himself with such strength and composure, would appear like this? Staring at the spreading fissures, Lan Yanran and Ge Ye—both of whom had witnessed such overwhelming power before—were suddenly struck with alarm, their voices rising in a thunderous roar that struck everyone in the hall, including Mo Cheng, who had been harboring deep resentment. He had never imagined that this enigmatic figure in black robes was a true Battle Sovereign! The head of the Mo family, Mo Lan, pale as a sheet, trembling under the sheer force of the aura, had his mouth twitching rapidly: "A little girl? Is that the one brought back by the Grand Elder? Heaven's sake, what has this old man done to provoke such a powerful Battle Sovereign?" "Please wait, Master," said Mo Lan, resolute under the pressure of the Battle Sovereign. "I'll immediately release the prisoners!" He knew clearly that his party had no room for negotiation, and thus promptly nodded. "Mo Lan, stand there! Who authorized you to let them go?!" Mo Cheng suddenly lifted his head and roared. "Grand Elder, why have you placed our Mo family in such peril merely for a little girl?" Blocked by Mo Cheng, Mo Lan furrowed his brows, slightly angry, saying, as if he didn't know that Qing Lin possessed the Bi She San Hua Eye. "You don't know what you're talking about! That little girl—absolutely—" Mo Cheng's face contorted with fury, yet before he could finish his words, the black-robed figure abruptly turned, his foot, charged with a terrifying force, striking sharply against Mo Lan's abdomen with a sharp crack of wind. Instantly, the words caught in Mo Lan's throat, and he clutched his abdomen with his left hand, spewing out a gush of blood. His legs folded beneath him, repeatedly rubbing against the ground until he finally crashed heavily against the thick support pillar, thereby dissipating the overwhelming power. The cloaked figure seemed to have reached the limit of his patience with the quiet, buzzing demeanor of Mu Cheng, finally delivering a fierce kick. With a delicate tap of his foot on the ground, he surged forward once more like a ghost, his fists blazing with rapidly coalescing, pale flames—clearly, this time he intended to strike decisively. As they passed each other, the black-robed figure's hand pressed firmly against the other's chest, and immediately, Ge Ye's face turned pale, his body suddenly becoming like a kite with its string severed, shooting backward.