"Elder brother," Xu Ran repeated. The word was absurd. He was nineteen. This boy was eighteen. They were classmates. They were not related. They had never spoken more than three words to each other.
But the demon. The eight-foot void entity with claws that had destroyed four cultivators in the span of a breath. That had healed a mortal wound with a touch. That had spoken in his mind.
That demon had called itself his elder brother.
And now it was a boy. An eighteen-year-old boy in his class. A boy who was on his knees, trembling, exhausted, looking up at him with brown eyes that held no threat. Only sincerity.
Xu Ran's pride, the pride that had carried him through five years of academy training, the pride that had made him the strongest Core Formation cultivator in his year, the pride that had flicked blood off his sword and asked who was next, vanished.
He clasped his hands. He bowed. His head lowered. His forehead nearly touched the cratered earth.
