"It shouldn't be like this! It shouldn't!"
Levin Lake carefully held the broken sword, muttering to himself, and quickly walked towards the rockery.
To him now, the troublemakers, the dead sword cultivator, the nonsense about Darrell Percival's dead son.
None of it mattered.
The weapon left by his ancestor is considered a supreme treasure.
Generations at Moon Manor have kept it safe.
In their hearts, it is the Divine Weapon.
But today, the Divine Weapon is broken.
It was snapped with a light swing by that young man.
Unbelievable.
Levin Lake was dripping with sweat, now suspecting the Divine Weapon had been stolen.
And replaced with a fake.
Yet only Think Tank and he had the authority to enter where the Divine Weapon was kept.
No outsiders had any access.
The more he thought, the more frightened Levin Lake felt.
To make a counterfeit so perfect, how skilled must this master be?
