Gahalad, Luinngard III, stood before Northern with a stark expression of blankness on his face. No trace of emotion could be read from his eyes.
Northern matched his intimidating presence with an amazing level of confidence; anyone present would call him cocky.
He didn't know what he was doing. The Emperor is a Paragon, a Drifter whose soul rank has achieved evanescence—in modern terms, he was peak existence.
At the very least, they were an embodiment of power closest to what should be the real peak. The fact that they had hit a great wall in advancement did not mean they were not strong enough to put gutsy brats like this white-haired kid in their place.
The air around them was silent; the night was reaching its peak. However, the moonlight cast a brilliant luminance over the sky, making the night bright enough for anyone to navigate through the streets and see the havoc that had been wrecked by the flood.
