The tent was airtight, and the camping light overhead emitted a dim glow. The boy's face was shrouded in darkness, but his presence couldn't be underestimated.
"Are you Colonel Cilin?" The boy's voice was pleasant, elegant, and slow, like that of a pampered prince. Yet, the chill in his tone was enough to make one's heart race.
From his accent, it was clear that he wasn't accustomed to speaking English; his accent was stiff.
Cilin met his gaze unhurriedly; in the darkness, he could only make out the boy's eyes, which shone brightly like the most dazzling star in the night sky.
"Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter who I am," the boy replied with a smile, slowly putting away his dagger.
Cilin's eyes slightly narrowed, not daring to act rashly.
Since the boy dared to easily sheath his knife, he must be confident.
Cilin squinted at him.
The boy had his back to Cilin. Cilin's hand at his side clenched tightly, his eyes brewing a storm...
