"Godfrey, you useless fool! Once I recover from my injury, I'm definitely going to deal with you!"
Emmett Ridge sat painfully beneath the tree, his heart filled with anxiety.
In such cold weather, the bandage on his wound had frozen solid.
Wouldn't that arm be frostbitten?
This is the hand that wields the sword!
If it's lost, not only will his position as the chief disciple be jeopardized.
He may soon be reduced to guarding the gate.
The martial arts world is very pragmatic.
Without skill, all compliments will vanish.
Emmett Ridge looked left and right, anxious and desperate!
Finally!
He saw Godfrey returning in disarray with two Boulevard disciples.
"Where's the hand?"
Emmett Ridge stood up and asked urgently.
"It got cut off!" Godfrey almost wanted to cry.
Clearly, he was supposed to retrieve a hand, but he lost his own.
"I already know it got cut off! Didn't you go after it?" Emmett Ridge fumed.
