"Ha, you lost again!"
Judiya raised her chin, looking down like a victor at Borg, whom she had just knocked to the ground.
"Yes, I lost."
Borg stood up, first dusting himself off, then checking the frostbite on his arms.
He had grown used to losing to the girl before him, and a familiar, wry smile hung on his face.
For more than half a year, Clan Leader Old Anderson had been brooding over one thing: although the appearance of the Immerlis Family's young master had given the once nearly ruined Allen Manor a new lease on life, and everything was now improving, with family members receiving better cultivation resources than before... their bloodline talents really were not something that could simply be made up for.
Especially whenever he saw that black cat, that ancestor whose portrait could hang in the study even in feline form, Old Anderson felt deeply ashamed.
How high-spirited the ancestor had been back then, and how glorious the family had been.
Old Anderson had once read the diary of a male ancestor from the same era. In one day's entry, that ancestor had written a sentence full of self-reproach:
"The family's core members met today to discuss our development plans. I couldn't attend, because only members at level six or above in the family faith system were qualified to enter the meeting room.
Sigh, I'm forty, and I'm still stuck at level five. I'm such a failure."
Only those above level six could attend the family's core meetings, and that level-five ancestor had lamented in his diary that he was a failure.
Old Anderson had often sighed over it in the past. If that ancestor could have lived another two hundred years, he would have discovered that someone at level five could become clan leader