An hour later, the main hall had cleared, leaving only the young warriors stationed at the heavy iron doors to guard the perimeter.
The broken bodies of Elder Shen and the gray-robed cultivator had been dragged away into the deep mountain pits, and the dark blood on the platform had been washed clean with fresh spring water.
Wang sat on the low stone steps of the stage, his long legs stretched out ahead of him. He had removed his heavy steel pauldrons, leaving him in a simple tunic of black leather lined with white fur.
He looked incredibly tired, his shoulders dropping slightly as the fierce alpha aura finally faded completely, leaving behind the heavy weight of a male who carried the fate of an entire nation on his back.
*Step.*
*Step.*
Elder Chen walked slowly across the quiet hall, carrying a large, carved box of dark ironwood in his single hand. He stopped beside Wang, lowering his old body onto the step next to him with a soft sigh.
