Aaaah!
The last person to become the High Tower Master's disciple, a peerless young prodigy who had once shaken an era, and the chosen child of a major tribe.
Right now, he was roaring, utterly devoid of grace, bellowing in a state of extreme discomposure.
He had been beaten to death again and again.
And in the exact same scenario, he had been blown apart by someone's fists twice.
The greatest humiliation! The greatest humiliation!
A great warrior who had roamed the battlefield across the eight desolations, fought countless foes, never taken the heads of weaklings but only those of the renowned—yet he had fucking fallen into the same pit twice?
Watching the young man display symptoms as though struck by rabies, the disciples within the High Tower could not help revealing looks of surprise.
Because judging by his reaction, he had lost again.
The first time, all of them had undoubtedly laughed at him mercilessly, saying he had capsized in a gutter and had even been beaten until he pissed himself by a challenger.
But they had never expected the second time to end the same way.
The first time could still be blamed on carelessness, but there was no excuse at all for the second.
They knew that, in order to wipe away his former disgrace, their junior brother had specifically gone to the High Tower's killing grounds and begun a long, bloody battle against the projections of powerful figures throughout the ages. For a full ten years, he had rekindled battle intent that had lain dormant for far too long.
By the time he went for the second attempt, he could be said to have adjusted himself to the most perfect state possible. He was a prodigy undefeated among those of the same realm.
Do not think