A black-robed man with a withered wood staff in hand stood at the gate, a creepy smile on his wrinkled pale face.
Behind him, a line of figures stood in the shadows, each exuding a formidable aura.
On the other side, next to the throne at the end of the hall, stood an old man with white hair and half-melted armor.
He held a sharp single-handed sword and gasped for breath, evidently having just experienced a fierce battle.
"Grand Duke of Mountain Crystal, if you choose to surrender now, perhaps I could grant you a swift death."
The hoarse voice rang out, the pale-faced black-robed man slowly stepped forward, his grin widening: "The advanced magic scroll you use as a trump card is almost depleted, isn't it? With merely the strength of a Tier 3 Pinnacle Powerhouse, you've held out against me for so long, you've outdone yourself."
"Dream on! As long as I still have a breath left in me, you shall not lay a finger on this place!"
