Eve watched from a spot beneath the stadium stalls, a small booth for the maids, butlers and other servants to rest momentarily.
At first, her heart was naturally strained with worry and fear for Liam.
Cultivators were utter madmen compared to everyday people, and their fights were a testament to that.
They were dangerous, scary, untrustworthy people. She feared them.
But not her son! He was her protector, her guardian.
Though when Liam teleported on that stage with that demonic mask and black blades grasped tightly, she looked… shocked.
There was no protective air around him, replaced with a hellish atmosphere that caused a chill to ravage her bones.
Not long after, he won the match with one attack, maiming and shattering a noble's armor and pride.
Eve bit her tongue to suppress her fear, but when she saw how indifferent Liam was to his wounds and burns during the second bout, tears clouded her incredulous eyes.
