Chapter 351 Book 7 Rescue Mission
The air in the small, makeshift office was thick with the scent of damp wood and old parchment. Rain had been falling steadily all morning, a soft, monotonous drumming against the windowpanes that did little to soothe the frayed nerves of General Xiong Gong. He sat at a sturdy oak table, his large frame dwarfing the simple wooden chair, his fingers tracing the cold, intricate surface of a metal object. It was a strange, compact thing, made of some dark, unfamiliar alloy, with a cylindrical chamber that rotated when a lever was pulled. He had been trying to figure it out for hours.
"Useless," he muttered, his voice a low growl. "A child's toy."
Unknown to him, what he just called as useless is one of the trump cards of Xian Town.
