Lance smiled as well, but there was a trace of something deeper behind it—curiosity, awe, and perhaps even a hint of frustration.
His eyes never left Riley, studying him with increasing seriousness.
Throughout their clash, Lance had unleashed nearly the full extent of his abilities, pushing his swordsmanship to unpredictable levels and summoning techniques that once carved apart ancient enemies.
And yet, Riley had remained unshaken.
Not once had he gone on the offensive. He hadn't even drawn a weapon.
He simply moved, subtly, effortlessly—his responses like flowing water, graceful and unhindered, as though Lance's furious strikes were nothing more than falling leaves brushing past him.
It was humiliating, in a way—but more than that, it was humbling.
Lance felt his heart tremble, not from fear, but from the unmistakable feeling of standing before a mountain whose peak was hidden by clouds.
He had thought himself strong.
He had fought ancient beasts, rival geniuses, and even inherited the will of a great elder, but in this moment, he knew—Riley existed on a plane he had yet to even glimpse.
Taking a deep breath, Lance sheathed his sword and stepped forward, his tone no longer playful or prideful, but reverent.
"Fellow Daoist Riley," he said solemnly, "would you honor me by showing your greatest strike? I wish to see the pinnacle of sword intent—or whatever truth you follow. I want to witness a perception higher than anything I've ever known."
Riley looked at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head slowly, his expression calm, even gentle.
"It won't help you," he said quietly. "You won't learn from it. You'll only feel despair. The peak... is not just far above you. It's beyond what you can currently comprehend."
His words weren't meant to belittle, but they struck Lance like thunder all the same.
The honesty in Riley's voice carried a weight that could not be ignored—like someone who had walked through storms, shattered realms, and reached the other side only to find silence.
But Lance didn't flinch.
"Even so," he said, and this time he bowed deeply, his voice filled with resolve, "please allow me to see it—just once. I don't care if I understand it or not. Even if it leaves me broken or despondent, I'll piece myself back together. Let me see what lies beyond. Please, Master Riley. Let this be the gift I carry into my next breakthrough."
The surrounding air stilled. Even the faint winds that had danced between them earlier seemed to pause, as though waiting to see if Riley would answer.
And Riley… said nothing for a moment. His gaze shifted to the horizon, as if remembering something far away. Something ancient.
Finally, he spoke—but with a quiet sigh.
"You have courage, Lance Raven. But courage alone may not be enough."
Still, something in Riley's tone suggested that he just might grant the request.
And he did.
Riley sighed softly, as if giving in to the persistent requests of a child, though his gaze remained calm and unreadable.
"Fine then," he said, his voice quiet, but resonant—like the first crack of thunder before a storm. "I'll give you a glimpse… just a peek… of what lies beyond your current perception."
He raised his right hand.
There was no buildup of energy, no dramatic surge of qi, no earth-shaking tremor to announce what was coming.
No divine light or terrifying pressure filled the air. It was a simple, almost lazy motion—as if
Riley were just brushing dust from his sleeve.
And yet, in that single, unhurried palm strike, everything changed.
The world shattered.
His body remained intact, but he felt as if he was being dismantled on a level even deeper than the soul.
It was his existence that was being crushed.
His thoughts fragmented under the weight of pressure that couldn't be measured.
What was a genius true immortal in front of such a force?
What use was talent, lineage, technique?
Nothing mattered.
His cultivation meant nothing.
His willpower meant nothing.
His pride meant less than nothing.
All he could do was stand there, his heart pounding in the face of annihilation, as the palm approached.
So this… this is what lay beyond.
Not a realm of heavenly laws or supreme power.
But a level of existence that unmade all things.
And just when he thought the palm would erase him, just as the shadow of it was about to blot out the last flicker of his consciousness—
—it stopped.
It didn't strike.
Instead, it dissolved, like mist in the morning sun.
The void around him slowly faded. Space knitted itself back together, thread by thread.
Time resumed its flow.
It was as though the universe had paused for a single breath… and now resumed as if nothing had happened.
But for Lance, everything had changed.
He dropped to his knees, gasping, drenched in cold sweat. His legs trembled.
His arms hung limp.
His eyes were wide, almost disbelieving, as he stared at the man before him.
Riley stood there casually, as if nothing had happened.
His hand now lowered, his face serene—no different from a master who had just performed a minor demonstration to a junior disciple.
"That," he said quietly, almost gently, "was not even my true strike. Just the echo of an intent. A whisper of a realm you're not ready to comprehend."
Lance opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
It was not that his voice had failed—it was that language itself felt too weak, too small, to express what he had just experienced.
It was as if he had glimpsed the veil behind creation… and what he saw had scarred him forever.
Riley turned away, hands behind his back, and began walking toward the distance, as though the display was already forgotten.
Behind him, Lance slowly, shakily bowed his head until his forehead touched the ground.
He didn't care if he looked pathetic.
He didn't care if he was broken.
What he had seen was truth. And he now understood what true power was.
And just how far away he still stood from it.
After what felt like an eternity, Lance finally moved.
His knees buckled slightly as he tried to rise, but he forced himself upright, refusing to let weakness win.
He stood tall, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths as the lingering pressure of Riley's illusion—or was it reality?—gradually faded from his senses.
Gone was the hollow, broken expression he had worn just moments ago.
In its place was something new.
Something forged in the crucible of despair and shaped by revelation.
His eyes, once wide with fear, now shimmered with awe and unshakable will.
A strange serenity had settled over him—like a man who had glimpsed the edge of the heavens and returned not in defeat, but with purpose.
Then he smiled.
A wide, brilliant smile that cut through the silence like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
It wasn't a smile of arrogance or bravado—it was one of gratitude, of clarity, of a warrior who had found something worth chasing.
He bowed deeply, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
"Thank you for this gift, Master Riley," he said with reverence. "You didn't just show me a technique or a level of strength—I've seen an entire world I never knew existed. You've opened my eyes to the truth."
He paused, clenching his fists as fiery determination surged through his veins.
"I was foolish to believe I stood near the top. That illusion has been shattered. But I won't despair. I won't break. And I won't run."
He looked up, gaze burning with resolve.
"One day, I'll stand where you stand. I'll chase that impossible peak, no matter how long it takes. Even if the heavens collapse or the stars fall—I'll walk that path, step by step, until I reach you."
Riley regarded him in silence for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. But then, a gentle smile curved his lips.
"That's a good sight," he said softly. "I expected nothing less from the patriarch of the Immortal Raven Clan."