On the snowfield.
Black Dragon, dressed in luxurious clothes, sat on a chair.
The chair was placed on thick snow.
Surrounding him stood dozens of martial artists.
In front of him was a large table.
A fire was beneath the table.
A hotpot was above it.
In the boiling water, there was a variety of meats, vegetables, and chili peppers that would make an ordinary person's scalp tingle.
Beside him was a pot of wine.
Black Dragon had been waiting here for half an hour.
Finally, a figure appeared in his line of sight.
This was the person they had been waiting for.
Black Dragon acted as if he hadn't noticed, continuing to drink and eat.
The martial artists behind him were on high alert, their eyes fixed ahead.
A few minutes later, the solitary figure in the snow was less than five hundred meters away from them.
"So, it's Swordsman Piran Wilson?" Black Dragon chuckled softly, raised his glass, and drank a sip.
The approaching person did not respond, continuing to draw nearer.
