The silver-robed youth was none other than Zhao Yin, whose demeanor radiated an air of absolute confidence, an arrogance borne of his belief in his unrivaled strength.
His presence alone commanded the attention of all around him, as though the very space itself recoiled at his authority.
He hadn't really bothered to draw a proper weapon, for his luxurious and expensive fan, held delicately in his hand, was as much a weapon as any blade forged in the depths of the abyss.
The ornate fan shimmered under the dim light, but it was the deadly aura surrounding him that truly captivated the onlookers.
A steady stream of black light imbued with pure, suffocating darkness spiraled from every point around him, blanketing the space like an oppressive shroud.
It was as though the air itself had been poisoned by the weight of his dark intent.