"You're strong. Stronger than I expected," Zeng Mu praised him, accepting his defeat without resentment.
Pitman smiled calmly and waved a hand. "Just a stroke of luck. Don't take it to heart, Viscount Nameless."
To his ears, the other man's excessive modesty carried a sense of pure arrogance. He reckoned this fellow had practiced swordsmanship for at least fifteen years, perhaps even longer.
But what puzzled Zeng Mu, Tonyson, and the others even more was who had taught him such outstanding swordsmanship. After all, a twenty-three-year-old could not have developed sword techniques of this caliber on his own. No matter how gifted he was, he could not possibly have reached this level.
They speculated that it had something to do with his family background, but they clearly knew nothing about that. The only one with any clues was Soxia, whose life Pitman had once saved, yet all he knew was that dense, fog-shrouded forest. During the days he had spent lying in bed, he had never even heard a second person's voice besides Pitman's. From his perspective, Pitman seemed to live alone. His parents had either gone far away or were no longer alive, so he could not understand how Pitman had acquired swordsmanship of this caliber either.
No one knew the answer. It seemed that even Pitman himself had forgotten those miserable, lonely days, one after another. To him, he was a man without a past.
Unlike Xia Bojin, Zeng Mu, and the others, he had not left the forest for the first time and come to the Temple Capital to attend the Holy Banquet for wealth, status, or treasures for cultivation. He had simply become unable to endure that curse-like loneliness on his own any longer, and so he had left that place and stepped out into the