The blazing sun hung high overhead, and heat waves rose from West City Camp beneath its glare. The banners drooped, and even the patrolling soldiers' footsteps carried the sluggish fatigue of having been roasted by the heat.
Zhang Meng strode across the drill ground, his hard leather boots thudding dully against the scorching earth.
His brows were tightly furrowed, fine beads of sweat covering his face.
Everything that had happened before the Ning Family's gate in Elm Forest Alley lingered in his mind like an inescapable shadow.
The boy's overly calm gaze, the excessively neat courtyard, the few remaining scorched marks and freshly turned soil—rather than traces left by wild dogs digging for food, they looked more like marks left behind by a collision of Soul Skills.
The traces were simply too faint, so faint that they were nearly impossible to detect. If not for the sharp instincts he had honed over many years, he would almost have been fooled by the boy's "sincere" and "panicked" performance.
"An ordinary farming household?" Zhang Meng snorted inwardly. "There wouldn't be scorched earth carrying the taint of Soul Power outside an ordinary farming household!"
Lost in thought, he headed straight for a separate barracks beside the central command tent.
The barracks was spacious and tidy. Two guards with formidable auras stood solemnly at the entrance, their eyes as sharp as eagles, making it clear that the person inside was no ordinary man.
This was the office and council chamber of Zhao Qian Ting, Commandant of the City Guard's West Camp.
"Captain Zhang." The guards clearly recognized Zhang Meng and gave him slight nods.
"I have an urgent matter to report to the Commandant," Zhang Meng said in a low voice.
"The Commandant is inside. Please enter."
"Mm!"
Zhang Meng straightened his armor, took