Cracks Beneath the Tyson Household
After seeing everyone leave with expressions of admiration, Julian D'Aurelius felt a bit numb.
The once-crowded martial arts hall had gradually fallen silent.
Only the cold night wind remained, sweeping through the shattered arena like a mournful sigh. Broken stone tiles were stained dark with blood, and damaged pillars creaked faintly whenever the wind passed through them.
The smell of medicine still lingered heavily in the air.
Far away, several injured disciples from smaller households were helping each other descend the mountain, their footsteps unsteady beneath the dim moonlight.
Tonight had begun as a gathering of Valemont's Old Martial Arts forces.
It had ended like a battlefield.
Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose quietly.
As expected, you can't celebrate too early.
Earlier, he had still been thinking about rewards and cultivation breakthroughs.
Now reality had smashed directly into his face again.
Steffan.
