To repay your grace at the Golden Terrace, I would wield my jade dragon blade and die for you

The corridor was dark and sinister.

Wu De stood amid a tide of Pseudo-Humans, countless pallid arms coiling around his limbs and torso in overlapping layers like wildly growing vines.

He should have despaired.

But that figure in a black-and-gold trench coat approached through the moonlight, like a shaft of light cleaving the night, shattering the deathly silence and despair that filled the corridor.

Wu De's eyes suddenly lit up. The dying embers in them erupted into a wildfire!

He forgot the teeth tearing into him and the hands dragging him down. He forgot his bone-deep despair. With the last breath in his chest, he fought to wrench his hand free of the countless pallid arms entangling him.

Fueled by his powerful mental will, the gecko gene unleashed its strength. A pale arm grew out of the blood and gore at his severed shoulder!

That hand pushed through layer after layer of obstruction, reaching straight toward the moonlight outside the window, toward that figure. His fingertips trembled, yet remained firmly extended into the moonlight spilling through the window.

At death's door, Wu De screamed himself hoarse, his voice thick with tears and the greatest joy of his life. He shouted toward that patch of moonlight, his cry echoing through the entire corridor.

"White Lord!!!"

Suddenly, time seemed to stop.

The window shattered at his cry. Shards of glass scattered through the air like crystals steeped in moonlight, shimmering softly.

And amid that shattered moonlight, a long, powerful hand clasped Wu De's bloodied hand tightly.

With a gentle tug, scarlet blood qi rippled outward, and his body was pulled free of the tide of Pseudo-Humans.

The black-and-gold trench coat enfolded his broken body as they fell through the moonlight and cold wind.

Behind him, the Pseudo-Humans crowded around the broken window,