Denvar stared at Derek, eyes wide in shock. 'Who the hell is this brat? How does he know about Damian?!' he wondered inwardly.
"I'm not someone important," Derek said calmly, "but I can help you earn your pride back."
"You? A cultivator?" Denvar shot back, his voice laced with disbelief. "Where the hell did you hit your head to end up this delusional?" The mention of his brother had instantly sobered him up, his drunken haze evaporating like mist. But he still couldn't take Derek seriously.
Derek rubbed his forehead in mild frustration. 'Why is it so hard to convince anyone without a damn show-off first?' he muttered inwardly.
After a brief pause, he looked up and said, "There are testing dummies here, right? The ones used to measure and adjust sword balance based on a user's height, muscle movement, and fighting style. Bring me the worst sword you've ever made and let's go there."
