Fang Hong pondered briefly before answering the question.
And his answer was unusually simple: "I, of course, am qualified."
The Wanderer was slightly taken aback, narrowing his eyes to look at him. That face, originally belonging to Count Westwood Sibika, was pale, with thin lips pressed tightly together, and there was a flicker in the depths of his eyes, pondering the meaning.
But Fang Hong stepped forward, opened his mouth, and almost silently uttered a name to him.
The silently uttered word was like a sword reflecting cold light, striking the Wanderer's ashen face, resembling a glass reflection, long and sharp, penetrating deep into his gaze, reaching the depths of the heart, making him involuntarily retreat a step.
The Wanderer shivered, nearly interrupting his spell—
The atmosphere on the square almost froze, with a young scholar unexpectedly raising his head to look in this direction.
