The cold night wind swept across the shattered mountain plateau, carrying the smell of ozone, burned rock, and wet copper.
"Apologies, young master." Qing'er knelt down before Haoran.
Her knees struck the sharp, cracked gravel with a quiet clatter, her tight black silk garments were torn along the sleeves and collar, showing bruised, pale skin beneath.
Her hands, scraped raw and trembling from the violent impact of the Sword Emperor's palm, were pressed flat against the dark earth.
Her head was bowed so low that her forehead nearly touched the dust, her black hair spilling over her face to hide the bitter shame burning in her eyes.
She felt useless. Every time a stronger opponent appears, she can provide no help to her young master.
She was an elite shadow guard bred from the secret training chambers of the Shen Clan.
