Core Modification

The dark and deserted alley was lit by the cold and silvery moonlight.

Inside the smithy, the coal on the furnace was still burning brightly, sending sparks into the air.

Heavy breathing echoed in the store.

Fang Lang supported himself with his sword. Blood dripped down his left palm. Even though he was gasping, there was a smile on his face.

Not far away from him, the young man was lying on the ground, his face covered in open wounds. He stared at the starry sky blankly as he let his failure sink in.

Gentle footsteps sounded.

The old man walked out of the store with his back straightened. He was holding the Obsidian Sword with a surprised yet approving expression.

He flung his hand and threw two porcelain bottles in the direction of Fang Lang and the young man.

The young man got up from the ground and caught the bottle.