The Old Servant behind the boy stepped forward trembling. “Master, the young master seems, seems...”

“Seems what!” The middle-aged man addressed as “Master” roared, making the Old Servant shudder. “It seems he doesn’t like drinking blood.”

Master looked at the boy with deep disappointment. “With his constitution—severed meridians, fragile mental endurance—he can’t train in martial arts or study magic. If he could awaken the skills of the bloodsucker clan and draw power from the blood of strong opponents, he might still become powerful. But he’s already fourteen and still hasn’t awakened this skill. Looks like there’s no hope for him in this life...”

The bloodsucker clan was one of the four great noble races of the Shenglong Empire. However, they didn’t feed on blood; rather, they could absorb the blood of enemies and convert it into their own strength. Normally, they ate the same things as other races—chicken, duck, fish, and meat.

Master looked rather desolate, waving his hand helplessly, as if he had suddenly aged a lot, his posture no longer so upright.

“In the Demon Abyss, only the strong are respected. A useless person like this—even if I could tolerate him, his maternal grandfather would never let him live and disgrace the Messiah family... Sigh!”

Master let out a heavy sigh, as if making some kind of decision.

He spread the five fingers of his left hand, which had been tucked into his sleeve, and a blood-red iron token slipped out. On the token, a blood-colored skull looked especially ferocious.

The Old Servant threw himself forward desperately, clutching Master’s leg and gripping his left hand tightly, refusing to let the token fall. “Master, Master, he’s your own son! Even if you and Old Master Barton don’t like this child, he’s still your blood! Master, I beg you...”

“Hmph!” With a casual flick, Master sent the aged servant flying seven or eight meters away. He crashed to the ground, ignoring his own injuries, and continued to kneel and kowtow. “Master, have mercy! Master, have mercy...”

Master didn’t even look at the Old Servant, turning instead to stare at the boy on the chair with a complex expression, sharp glints flashing in his eyes. He hooked his finger, about to flick out the iron token that held the power of life and death.

“Big brother!” Suddenly, a voice interrupted him. From outside the door strode a pale young man who bore some resemblance to Master. “Big brother, are you really so heartless?”

“If I don’t kill him, Barton Messiah won’t let him go either.”

“Big brother, is the family’s honor really so important to you all, more important than your own blood?” The young man’s eyes were full of bitterness. “If I were a useless person, would you also flick out the blood-kill token and order my death?”

Master was speechless.

“Big brother, even if he can’t awaken the clan’s skills, he can still inject magic essence and become strong!”

Creatures of the Demon Abyss had special constitutions. Besides their own cultivation, there was another unique way to increase their strength: hunting powerful magical beasts and extracting their blood, spinal fluid, or any bodily fluid, then injecting it into themselves. Once the body assimilated these fluids, it would be strengthened, increasing their power. Different magical beasts would strengthen different people to varying degrees, but every Demon Abyss person could only use this magic essence injection three times in their life.

Master casually tossed out an object. It was a triangular prism, its surfaces smooth, with a sparkling magic crystal at the base. The object was held aloft by an invisible force and floated before the boy. With a hiss, three sets of numbers appeared on its faces.

“Look—he’s fourteen, bone quality 20, muscle quality 26, battle energy 0. How many times would he need to be strengthened to advance to a first-level professional, a Bronze Warrior or Copper Emblem Knight? Magic sensitivity 11, magic control index 7. How many times would he need to be strengthened to become a magic apprentice? Do you think three chances are enough?”

The young man was at a loss for words, but still seemed unwilling to give up.

“Big brother, I know you have a fief in the north of the Martinique province. Send him there. From now on, unless summoned, he is not to return to Dragon Fury City. Any violators will be executed. Is that enough? That land is barren and desolate—let him fend for himself. At least you and the Barton family won’t have to see him...”

Master thought for a long time, finally letting out a long sigh. With a flick of his finger, the blood-red iron token turned black. “Ding”—the token shot out, spinning brilliantly in the air before landing on the ground.

“Gaia Gangro, in the name of the head of the Gangro blood clan, I hereby appoint you as the lord of Greenland. Without the Master’s order, you are never to leave your fief for life. Any violators will die!”

After speaking, a gust of magical wind swept through, and he, his four attendants, and the strong man on the ground all disappeared.

The boy seemed unaware that he had just escaped the scythe of death. His large, black-and-white eyes stared fixedly at his uncle. The loyal Old Servant rushed forward, kowtowing repeatedly. “Thank you, Young Master Francis, thank you, Young Master Francis...”