An earth-shattering explosion echoed across the sky, causing the entire Elysium Isle to shake violently. When the golden sword aura struck the enormous palm, a blinding flash erupted. It was as brilliant as the sun, forcing everyone to look away.
Shockwaves spread outward with the force of an avalanche. Towering old trees were ripped from the earth as rock and debris became deadly missiles. The ground split apart, opening black chasms that seemed to swallow light itself.
Tristan, Matthias, and Nathaniel were blasted backward by the aftershock. They slammed into the ground hard and coughed up blood. Despite their injuries, they forced themselves to look up toward the source of the brilliant light.
Above them, the golden sword aura and giant palm remained in a deadlock. Golden light wove together with the white radiance from the palm. The two forces clashed with a sharp, sizzling sound.
Thymaleon’s face showed surprise for the first time. He frowned slightly, looking toward where the golden sword aura had originated.
His eyes now held a trace of seriousness. Obviously, he hadn’t expected anyone on Elysium Isle to be capable of blocking his attack.
Moments later, the golden sword aura flared brighter. It tore through the massive palm, then scattered into golden points of light that faded away.
Thymaleon hovered in midair, staring at the golden sword aura that had destroyed his palm strike. The indifference in his eyes disappeared completely for the first time.
His slender fingers curled slightly. That apparently casual palm strike had actually concentrated 30% of his power since awakening. It was a force that an ordinary ultimate grandmaster would find difficult to withstand, not to mention totally destroying it.
“Interesting,” Thymaleon murmured. His cold voice finally carried a hint of emotion.
He looked toward where the sword aura had originated. The dense forest lay shrouded in swirling mist, but he could detect a subtle presence of the sword aura. It felt restrained yet threatening, like a dormant dragon.
His deep eyes narrowed. The glowing aura that surrounded him began to ripple as his emotions stirred.
Obviously, whoever had just interfered possessed strength that far exceeded his initial assessment. Compared to the worthless ordinary people below, that unknown fighter might actually deserve to be called an opponent.
Thymaleon didn’t bother looking at Tristan and the others again. He dismissed them completely, like they were nothing more than dirt beneath his notice.
His body shifted. The white glow around him suddenly flared to blinding intensity. His entire form became a streak of brilliant radiance, like a meteor streaking across the sky as he rocketed toward the forest depths.
Thymaleon moved at an astonishing pace. Only a brief afterimage lingered in his original position, accompanied by the sharp sound of air being ripped apart. Then he vanished beyond the horizon.
With one hand pressed to his chest, Tristan rose from the ground and watched the brilliant streak rocket into the distance. His eyes went so wide with amazement that they looked ready to pop.
He stumbled against a nearby tree trunk for support. Crusted blood still marked his lips as he said, voice trembling, “That’s… That’s it? He just left?”
The crushing weight of that overwhelming power still hung in the air, yet Thymaleon had just turned and left. The sudden change was too much for Tristan to wrap his head around.
Nathaniel also struggled to his feet, smoothing out his robes where the energy blast had left them wrinkled. His expression was clouded with confusion and concern.
“That golden sword aura was definitely no ordinary technique,” he said. “Anyone capable of forcing that monster to voluntarily retreat must possess unfathomable strength.” 1
He recalled the despair he had felt when that enormous palm came down, and he still felt shaken by it. If that sword aura hadn’t appeared at the crucial moment, they would have been crushed long ago.
Matthias’ grip on his sword slowly relaxed. The red marks where his knuckles had pressed against the handle were clearly visible.
He stared in the direction where the light had disappeared and said grimly, “So Elysium Isle really does hide secrets. That monster already had abilities like an immortal, but there are even stronger beings on this island. It’s truly frightening.
At that thought, a complicated expression flashed in his eyes. Milton limped over to the three brothers using a broken branch for support. He was breathing hard, but his expression was deadly serious.
“Years ago, I heard the late King said that Elysium Isle was a place where immortals once lived. It also hides many shocking secrets. Perhaps the one who just intervened was truly a legendary immortal who guards the island.”
His words sent murmurs among the soldiers. Their faces revealed both the relief of having survived the catastrophe and curiosity about the mysterious and powerful figure.
Thymaleon, who had transformed into streaking light, was already passing through layers of dense forest. The old trees along his path all leaned to both sides under the impact of the airflow surrounding him, and fallen leaves scattered everywhere like a tide.
After 15 minutes, he slowed down and landed beside an open lakeside clearing. The lake water was crystal clear, reflecting the pale clouds in the sky. A dozen tents had been pitched on the lakeside grass. A treasure-hunting party was encamped there.
But what stood out most was the lingering deadly sword aura in the air around the camp. Though most of it had faded, what remained carried a bone-deep chill that felt sharp enough to slice through flesh.
Thymaleon slowly walked toward the camp. His gaze swept over several guards who were cleaning their weapons outside the tents. Then, he finally focused on the stone table in the center of the camp.
A man in white robes sat there, with his head lowered as he wiped a long sword. His clothing was plain, but his frame was straight as a pine tree. Even when sitting casually, he radiated a natural ease and nobility that seemed to be born within him.
His profile was sharply defined with aristocratic features. He had a high-bridged nose, and his thin lips pressed into a distant expression.
When he looked up, his clear eyes met Thymaleon’s gaze. They were calm, unreadable, but there was an intensity there that seemed to miss nothing. The blade caught the sunlight, gleaming as cold and bright as its master.
Thymaleon studied the man in white, surprise flickering in his eyes before he spoke slowly. “I didn’t expect to find someone like you on Elysium Isle.”
The man in white heard the voice and slowly set down his sword. He raised his head to look at Thymaleon with a faint smile.
It was Dustin. He had just arrived on the island.
