"Mystic Arts Order's flea powder? That's cool." Dustin squinted, quickly catching on—it was clear that Caspian wasn't any average mystic artist but an elite from the Mystic Arts Order.

"Oh? A mystic artist? No wonder you saw through my moves." Caspian gave Dustin a once-over; his gaze shone with excitement.

That surprise attack moments ago would've been tough for a regular martial artist to handle. But Dustin had effortlessly diffused the danger with a slight breath, showcasing his skill.

"Ah! My face! My handsome face!" Ezra, now poison-free, howled in pain, covering his bloodied face.

He roared, "Sir Yuletide! Take him down for me! I want to rip him to shreds!"

"You're noisy!" Caspian's face darkened, and with a backhand slap, he sent Ezra flying. He was a master at being unpredictable.

"As fellow mystic artists, why don't you kneel and apologize to me, then become my disciples? What do you say?" Caspian proposed, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

His disciple was dead,