The crowd was parting, and a small group of people came walking out. Zhang Tianmiu only managed to see that familiar silver mask before it was swallowed up by the throng.

He shook his head, thinking that the competition was indeed lively, and then, without turning back, he hurried toward the south.

The Dwarf Referee was leading the way for a group of people, twirling his pointed beard, "Congratulations, Mr. Xiaya—please follow me, the award ceremony for the preliminaries is ready."

Meanwhile, Fang Hong was absent-minded, watching the surrounding crowd with a cold sweat.

Atira found his demeanor somewhat amusing, "Don't worry, the people from the Silver Forest Spear aren't here anymore."

"Except for those two villains," Tianlan added.

"Those two villains?" Fang Hong was not aware that Wu Di was a finalist.

However, after looking around, since he didn't see any figures in black coats, and it seemed the military had already left the hall, he felt somewhat relieved.

"If he was so worried, why did Brother Ade make such a show at the end?" Gita whispered from behind.

This question made Fang Hong scratch his head.

He was embarrassed to admit that it was because he got carried away, and it was also because of that repulsive Little Fatty. Besides, he hadn't expected the other party to be so weak, even weaker than Big Sister.

"It's his fault for being too weak." Fang Hong felt very embarrassed and decided to shift the blame.

The others couldn't help but giggle at him.

"Really, it's okay," he comforted himself, "… after all, I only wanted to participate in the preliminaries, we'll just take the prize and leave this place after, surely that won't attract any attention."

Gita opened her mouth to respond but ultimately didn't dare to speak up.

However, the Papalarian Crossbowman squeezed through the crowd from behind and extended his chubby little hand to Fang Hong, "Hello, my name is Parker, you saved my life, honored Combat Artisan, sir—"

Tianlan stared at the little chunk, wondering when he had become so polite.

And the other continued, "I mean, you wouldn't mind saving my life again by sharing a bit of your dinner with a starving, pitiful, weak, and helpless Papalarian, would you?"

Fang Hong was stunned for a moment but shook hands with him and asked curiously, "You're Parker, right? I heard that Papalarians eat seven meals a day—haven't you missed any meals? Ah, I forgot, you're an Invoker!"

The eyes of the Papalarian Crossbowman instantly brimmed with tears.

He was thrilled to finally meet someone who cared about whether Papalarians had eaten or not, and so in his heart, Fang Hong's status immediately rose much higher than the demonic Tianlan.

"No, no," Parker shook his head like a rattle drum, "Not at all offensive, though I am an Invoker, the innate rule of Papalarians dictates that if we haven't eaten in three hours, we'll have no energy."

"Isn't it supposed to be starved to death?" Gita asked quietly.

"That starving to death rule was full of loopholes," the little fatty whispered back, "so I modified it to make it more precise."

"It was me who helped him notice it," Tianlan claimed credit.

Atira could only helplessly shake her head after hearing their conversation.

"You can change that?" Fang Hong was surprised, but he still nodded courteously to the other, "Of course not, actually I've already had my dinner."

"Great!" the Papalarian Crossbowman jumped with joy, "From today onwards, you are the best friend of the Papalarians, no problem if I invite you to dinner, right?"

"That was actually Brother Ade's dinner," Tianlan pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Fang Hong was listening to the banter among them, finding it quite amusing; he had often picked fights with Miss Sicape before until she couldn't stand it and resorted to violence—

But it was at this moment that a deep voice came from the side, "…Have you ever heard the shriek of the Dragons, young man?"

Fang Hong stopped in his tracks and turned around abruptly.

He saw a tall man standing to the side, looking at him with dark, heavy eyes.

The man was like a towering mountain, his skin bronzed, with stripes painted on his arms and cheeks. The intricate patterns extended over his solid, tight muscles, exuding an aura of unspoken, formidable presence.

By now, they had recognized this man—

The owner of the local inn.

"You are…?" Fang Hong asked, in a low voice.

"Have you ever heard the shriek of the Dragons, young man," Mazak continued, still inquiring, "…behind the profound darkness, dragons flap their wings, in the gaze of both the dead and the living, behind that kingdom, proclaiming that one day they will rise again…"

His voice was faint and deep, making a profound impression.

Fang Hong faintly felt the back of his hand growing warm again; he shielded it subtly, feeling somewhat puzzled. But suddenly, an indescribable palpitation arose, and he couldn't help but press his hand against his chest.

Thump, thump, thump.

His heart was beating powerfully.

Everything around him seemed to blur as if something was drawing near, a massive entity screeching as it circled around him, sometimes far, sometimes near.

Only one anxious voice was calling him, "Ade, Ade?"

Only then did Fang Hong gradually come to his senses, the illusions around him dissipating into nothingness; he saw Atira looking at him with deep concern, her emerald eyes filled with worry.

He looked around; everyone else was fine.

Beside him, Hudi was still looking at him nervously, "Ade, why didn't you respond to Mazak's question earlier? If he got angry, we'd be done for."

"Psh, what does he count for—" Tianlan was unconcerned.

Fang Hong was stunned for a moment, only to realize that Mazak had already left, "When did he leave?" He felt a moment of confusion.

The Old Dwarf beside him shook his head, comforting them, "Don't worry, the owner here is like that, always talking in riddles. But actually, he has a good temper, you'll find after staying here for a while that he's a pretty decent eccentric."

"An eccentric?" Fang Hong felt somewhat puzzled.

He always felt that this inn had some connection to the Crown Mark on the back of his hand, especially this hall—

He couldn't help but raise his head to gaze at the huge Dragon Horn hanging in the dome; in the swirling smoke, the Dragon Horn seemed even more vivid. Looking at that Dragon Horn, Fang Hong had an enduring illusion, as if something behind that shadow was watching him.

The feeling made him shiver.

He whispered, "By the way, do you know the origin of this Dragon Horn?"

The Dwarf Referee shook his head, speaking dismissively, "Who knows, it's been here since this inn existed. Maybe it's related to Westmina, you know those mysterious legends, but you should ask the previous Chief Praetor of Elpaxin about this."

"Why?"

"Because this inn was approved for construction by him."

"And what is Westmina?" Parker inquired softly to Gita beside him.

"It's the homeland of Dragon Slayers, located in the Istania Desert in the central region of the Colin Kingdom," Gita responded.

But the Dwarf didn't want to waste time on this topic, turning back to the matter at hand, "Let's move on, Craftsman sir."

Although still puzzled, Fang Hong could only nod.

Not far away, Mazak silently watched the group leave.

Behind him, a slightly stooped shadow emerged from the darkness; candlelight sketched an elderly face, the old man looking at Mazak with eyes full of reverence.

Mazak didn't turn back, "Is everything ready, Shayek?"

The old man nodded, "As thorough as possible, only..."

The former's steady gaze moved through the crowd, over several Dwarfs standing guard, and settled on that stone platform. After a moment, he asked, "Only what?"

"The people from Silver Forest Spear have been waiting for you in the drawing room for quite a while," the old man replied.

"Don't bother with them," Mazak responded, "Let them wait a bit longer; they're just vultures waiting for a feast—by the way, have you seen the vultures over the desert, Shayek?"

The old man was startled, then shook his head, "It's been a long time."

"Same for me," the towering figure sighed, "Istania seems to have become more of an abstract symbol to me; I still remember the silver sands of the desert and those incidents of my youth—"

The old man trembled slightly, giving the innkeeper a look of inexplicable expression, then deeply bowed his head.

Mazak placed his hand on his chest.

His palm responded with a vigorous thumping sound, but within that sound, as if containing an unusual factor.

...

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