Jiangnan City, inside a teahouse.
"I’ve checked—there’s no Andrew Han in Group Nineteen of the Defense Formation. Besides, Warren Wang is just a casual martial artist; how could he know Andrew Han?" Romer Luo seemed unconvinced.
Whether by sentiment or by principle, Han Dong had to step in and help.
First of all.
Romer Luo set down his pure gold wine cup, his back on the stone stool leaning slightly forward; clearly, Andrew Han’s name had a deterrent effect, making him hesitate.
"There’s no falsehood in this." The three Martial Lord elders exchanged glances, then said, "Andrew Han joined the Defense Formation before this Peerless Prodigy Battle, as one of the members of Group Nineteen."
"Only when Andrew Han’s strength rivaled Martial Lords did he form his own unit."
No matter the reason.
They had long heard of the Zhuo Family affair. If the Martial Arts Alliance hadn’t intervened to demand the sect relic from Sakura Island Nation, the Zhuos would never have returned Green Mountain Sect’s Eastern-Sea Chart.
Unfortunately.
Andrew Han would surely have destroyed the Zhuo Family!
"Romer Luo."
The white-haired Martial Lord elder took a sip of fine wine and spoke solemnly: "If you want to take revenge on Warren Wang, or do anything else, at least do it properly. You must return this child to Warren Wang immediately—don’t provoke Andrew Han."
The sun dipped below the horizon; dusk arrived.
Chirping sounds.
After hesitating for two minutes, he squinted and finally sighed: "You’re right. If Andrew Han came to my door over this... Fine, I’ll return the brat to Warren Wang tomorrow."
The sky was clear and bright, blue as if washed clean; it was the season when grass grows and warblers fly. Tieyang Sect, a small martial arts sect, now had eight Martial Lord elders.
"I have to torment him a bit to vent my hatred." Romer Luo’s narrow eyes flashed with malice.
Pat.
There were many ways to torment someone, such as relentless psychological intimidation. As long as he didn’t leave any marks on Wang Chong, even if the boy was scared into autism or a mental breakdown, Romer Luo could completely deny responsibility.
He gripped Wang Youwei’s son, Wang Chong, by the right hand and carelessly tossed him down beside the cliff next to the sect gate, then called over two or three Martial Lord elders to drink some wine and enjoy the moment.
This cliff was about twenty meters high.
From here, one could take in the entire mountain forest and also see Tieyang Sect’s massive stone gate, built of granite and Jue Ore, guarded by disciples on both sides.
Moreover.
The disciples’ reverent gazes filled Luo Mu with a pleasure that was hard to describe.
"Three elders." Luo Mu had already split the giant rock, set up a stone table and stools, and greeted the three Martial Lord elders who had come to drink with him, leisurely pouring the wine.
Whoosh, whoosh.
The mountain wind swept through.
The sun, soon to sink below the western horizon, cast its last rays of dusk, illuminating Luo Mu and the other three Martial Lord elders.
At this moment, it was just the time when disciples returned to the sect.
They belonged to Tieyang Sect and didn’t have to worry about anything outside of martial training, so they gathered around the sect gate, chatting about interesting things, sometimes gazing up at the four Martial Lord elders sitting on the cliff, their eyes filled with respect and longing.
"Tsk tsk."
"Martial Lord Realm—this is Martial Lord!"
"It’s rumored that the eighth Martial Lord elder, Luo Mu, fought at the border for seven years, facing life-and-death battles, and reached mid-tier Martial Lord Realm."
Some disciples secretly clicked their tongues in admiration.
Even lower-tier Martial Lord Realm was extraordinary, let alone the newly promoted elder Luo Mu. If Luo Mu faced an ordinary high-tier Martial Lord, he could probably hold his own for several minutes.
The cliff above was picturesque.
The mountain wind was gentle, and suddenly—
"Wang Chong?"
"Wang Youwei’s son? Is that Wang Youwei from the nineteenth Defense Formation in Jiangnan Province?" A Martial Lord elder with white hair and a ruddy face frowned, looking at the unconscious boy on the ground.
The boy, sturdy and round-faced, was still unconscious.
"Yes, Wang Youwei’s son, Wang Chong." Luo Mu nodded lightly. He had just struck the boy with a palm chop; Wang Chong wouldn’t wake until dusk tomorrow at the earliest.
The events of seven years ago still had some effect. For example, Jin Qiyu, the head of the Discipline Hall, looked down on him—but in the Martial Arts World, strength always ruled.
The three Martial Lord elders before him were the best proof of that.
He kept his contempt hidden in his heart, but outwardly remained very familiar and sociable.
At this moment—
The white-haired Martial Lord elder’s expression grew more serious: "Luo Mu, Wang Youwei is a friend of Han Dong. From what I know, when Wang Youwei lost his arm, Han Dong visited him several times."
What?
Luo Mu was taken aback.
He couldn’t help but glance at Wang Chong, lying in the corner of the courtyard, his eyelids twitching. Although he had only just returned to Jiangnan Province, Han Dong’s reputation as a prodigy was already thunderous.
Impossible.
"I’ve checked—there’s no Han Dong in the nineteenth Defense Formation. Besides, Wang Youwei is just a casual martial artist; how could he know Han Dong?" Luo Mu seemed unconvinced.
Despite his words, a sense of dread grew in his heart.
Clack.
Luo Mu set down his pure gold wine cup, his back on the stone stool leaning slightly forward; clearly, Han Dong’s name had a deterrent effect, making him hesitate.
"There’s no falsehood in this." The three Martial Lord elders exchanged glances, then said, "Han Dong joined the Defense Formation before this Peerless Prodigy Battle, as one of the members of the nineteenth unit."
"Only when Han Dong’s strength rivaled Martial Lords did he form his own unit."
Their voices were low; all three elders looked grave.
They had long heard of the Zhuo Family affair. If the Martial Arts Alliance hadn’t intervened to demand the sect relic from Sakura Island Nation, the Zhuos would never have returned Green Mountain Sect’s Eastern-Sea Chart.
If they hadn’t returned it—
Han Dong would surely have destroyed the Zhuo Family!
"Luo Mu."
The white-haired Martial Lord elder took a sip of fine wine and spoke solemnly: "If you want to take revenge on Wang Youwei, or do anything else, at least do it properly. You must return this child to Wang Youwei immediately—don’t provoke Han Dong."
Silence.
Luo Mu sat on the stone stool, torn and conflicted.
After hesitating for two minutes, he squinted and finally sighed: "You’re right. If Han Dong came to my door over this... Fine, I’ll return the brat to Wang Youwei tomorrow."
"But before I do—"
"I have to torment him a bit to vent my hatred." Luo Mu’s narrow eyes flashed with malice.
He had survived countless deadly battles; he was certainly no fool.
There were many ways to torment someone, such as relentless psychological intimidation. As long as he didn’t leave any marks on Wang Chong, even if the boy was scared into autism or a mental breakdown, Luo Mu could completely deny responsibility.
After all—
Mental illness is hard to trace!
"Sigh, why make things so hard for a child?" The white-haired elder tried to persuade him, but the three of them were only lower-tier Martial Lords, while Luo Mu was mid-tier.
So—
They stopped interfering and prepared to continue enjoying their wine.
Just then—thump! Thump!
A faint tremor rippled outward in all directions.
The forest for a kilometer around rustled, the sound intensifying, as if amplifying the presence of a shallow-blue figure on the horizon, causing the mountains to tremble in awe.
"Who’s there?"