"Your talent is mediocre at best," Aaron interrupted, voice flat and bored. "And I don't recruit thieves."
"Me? A thief?!" The man's face flushed crimson with rage. "How dare you—"
Aaron didn't bother listening to the rest. With a faint flick of his wrist, space twisted around the cultivator.
The man vanished mid-sentence, teleported to some random corner of the continent.
Whether he landed in a beast-infested forest, a poisonous swamp, or the middle of a rival sect's territory, Aaron neither knew nor cared.
Lin Guo stared at the empty spot where the man had stood, then slowly shook his head and let out a long, helpless sigh.
" When has anything involving Aaron ever been normal?"
Four hours dragged by.
One applicant after another approached, proud young masters, wandering rogue cultivators, even a few promising-looking wanderers.
Every single one was rejected before they could fully introduce themselves. Aaron's verdicts were swift, merciless, and utterly final.
