Although special methods could alter one's appearance in Slaughter City, a person's fighting style, reaction speed, and physical condition could not lie.
The woman could tell that Lin Wan was definitely no older than twenty.
A young man under twenty who had achieved sixty-eight consecutive victories in the Hell Slaughter Arena.
If that did not make him a true powerhouse, what would?
Yet the Slaughter King gently shook his head.
"Then do you think," he asked, his voice still low, "he is someone with nowhere left to turn?"
The woman froze.
Nowhere left to turn?
In Slaughter City, the vast majority of the fallen had come here because they had nowhere left to turn.
They were either criminals wanted across the entire continent, people who had offended forces they could not contend with, or those who had committed unforgivable crimes in the outside world.
They came here to seek sanctuary, and to find a thread of hope amid despair.
But Lin Wan...
The woman carefully recalled Lin Wan's behavior since he had arrived in Slaughter City.
He had suddenly appeared a year ago. No one knew where he came from, nor did anyone know why he had come here.
He never spoke with the other fallen. Apart from fighting, he stayed in his quarters, like a killing machine devoid of emotion.
More importantly, there were his eyes.
The eyes of those fallen who had nowhere left to turn held either madness, despair, or numbness.
But Lin Wan's eyes were always calm and composed, as though everything was under his control.
How could someone like that have nowhere left to turn?
"No," the woman finally answered.
"So," the Slaughter King said, a hint of amusement entering his voice, "he clearly did not come here to seek sanctuary."
The woman's heart jolted.