The man in the green Daoist robe sneered.
“Looking at him, I’d say even his core has been damaged. How strange… on Fairyharbor Island, besides us, who else could wound Brother Emmitt like this?”
The beautiful woman only covered her mouth and laughed softly, eyes flicking with unspoken thoughts.
Only the burly man stayed silent. Slowly he straightened, pushing the women at his side away. His eyes blazed like cold lightning as he fixed them on Emmitt. His voice was low and heavy with oppression.
“What happened?”
Under the weight of those four gazes—especially the burly man’s—Emmitt’s body trembled.
He swallowed his humiliation, stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head. In a hoarse voice he recounted everything:
Being awakened by Tristan’s group, casually killing mortals, then being stopped by Logan; losing the contest of mental power; finally struck down by thunder and forced to use the secret life-saving method to rebuild his body.
As he spoke, the sneers faded from the faces of the zither-playing man and the Daoist-robed man. Even the beautiful woman’s smile dimmed, a glimmer of surprise in her eyes. They had not expected someone so troublesome to appear from outside the island.
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