Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
The brief span of three days slipped away in a flash.
For days, this small frontier city of the Klan Empire had remained immersed in a fever of activity, never resting.
Throughout the city, every household worked with all its might.
Countless commoners toiled diligently day and night, brewing vast quantities of fine wine.
A full hundred thousand tons of fine wine had now been sealed away in storage.
Large granaries and underground wine cellars were filled to the brim, securely storing the fruits of the entire city's months of sweat and toil.
The rich, mellow fragrance of wine filled the border city.
It drifted on the wind through streets, fields, and gate towers, lingering without fading, refreshing the heart.
The main hall of the City Lord's Mansion was quiet and solemn.
The Third Young Master of the Lin Family sat upright in the seat of honor, his bearing straight, his expression calm and composed.
Compared with his anxious tension and sleepless nights a few days earlier, he had now cast off all his exhaustion and heavy worries.
For days, unknown to anyone, he had been staking everything on a desperate gamble in his heart.
After his grandfather fell and the Lin Family was brutally destroyed, he had wandered into a foreign land, struggling to survive.
Years of wandering had shown him all too clearly the fickleness of the world and the warmth and coldness of human hearts.
He knew his own limits very well.
His foundation in this life was already fixed, his talent limited. With only the cultivation of an eighth-level mage, even a lifetime of arduous training would most likely leave him unable to reach the threshold of Saint.
The shackles of mortality had long since locked