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In the Forbidden Tower, there was a spiral staircase, reminiscent of a dragon coiled in deep slumber, its stony scales ascending into the unknown. Two shadows emerged against the backdrop of the ascending stairs, finally standing victorious at the pinnacle. Dressed in garments of royal violet and midnight black, they were Holy Son Chu and his ever-loyal guardian, Xiao He.
Xiao He, ever the observant one, remarked, "You still nursing that wound with those bandages? It was just a scratch, was it not?" He threw a sidelong glance at Holy Son Chu, his tone dripping with humor, "Those bandages don't look good on you."
Holy Son Chu shot him a wry smile. "I figure I'll remove them when the wound is fully healed," he replied, yet beneath those eyes hid a storm of emotions, a mix of haunting sadness and simmering rage. "I heard the Sword Lord is stirring up a storm?"
"He really lucked out this time," Xiao He chuckled, his frosty demeanor contrasting with his words. "Had those old-timers from Sword Heaven not come running with their tails between their legs to apologize, their precious little sanctuary would...
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