Ou Mingcheng, the Temple of Light's Lord, lowered his head slightly as if he were thinking about something. His knuckles tapped on the throne's armrest, making a slightly dull sound.
He didn't answer immediately, and he frowned in consideration.
The Elders were mostly of the mature and prudent type, so they didn't rush him. Instead, they quietly waited.
After all, this matter was no trivial matter. The powerhouses from several cities would be taking part in the 'contest,' and the various factions would be plotting moves from behind the scene.
This might be an opportunity, or it could be a terrible whirlpool of death!
Whether the Temple of Light would take the initiative to be involved in this whirlpool had to be carefully considered.
