As the last rays of dusk faded, the helicopter touched down on the rooftop teahouse.
Warren Wang stood with his hands behind his back atop the rooftop, watching the departing figures of Andrew Han and Carter Yan. Leisurely, he stretched and rubbed his jaw.
The cold wind swept by, but could not hide his smile.
Andrew Han and Carter Yan’s outstanding performance filled Warren Wang with delight, because the integration period for newly inducted Defense Formation members is always the most dangerous.
Fortunately.
Carter Yan met the standard, and Peerless Andrew Han surpassed all his expectations.
While martial practitioners enjoy privileged status, they must also fulfill their obligations. This is the root of the extraordinary prestige held by those above the Martial Artist Realm.
But still—
With Demons and Specters at the gates, who can say their life is ever truly safe?
Perhaps only those at the Martial Lord Realm—or beyond—can hope to endure.
“Eight people.”
“Let’s hope that by the end of next year, all eight are still whole.”
Warren Wang sighed, took two or three steps back into the teahouse, then froze at the sight of a sturdy, round-faced little boy. His gaze softened with indescribable emotion.
This was his son.
About six years old.
“Kiddo.”
“Where’s your mom? Did you come by yourself?”
Warren Wang’s lips curled into a smile as he lovingly patted his son’s head twice.
The little boy held a lollipop, arms wide, running toward his father. “Daddy, Uncle Qing picked me up.”
Uncle Qing?