He turned his head to glance at the two perfectly seated figures at the dumpling stall, clutching their chopsticks as if they were weapons, staring at the large iron pot and incessantly swallowing their saliva. His right fist suddenly smashed into the palm of his left hand.
Slaughter Dragon Divine Skill? Chemical superstition? Mechanical ascension?
These, when well-utilized, indeed possessed great appeal, but they required extensive time for delicate operation, and the slightest carelessness could expose flaws.
Not to mention, just fabricating an identity that could withstand the scrutiny of Protector King Ning's estate would require great effort... How could a royal relative like Protector King Ning, naturally lofty and wealthy, condescend to meet a martial artist of unknown origins?
