Emily Owen walked all the way to the back courtyard of the martial arts hall and climbed over a stone wall as high as four zhang.

　　This courtyard, enclosed by high walls, was about twenty zhang wide and long, completely empty, with no plants growing inside.

　　At the center stood two massive, dark iron pillars.

　　The iron pillars were ten zhang tall, crossing each other as they were driven into the ground, one on the left and one on the right.

　　A strange gleam flashed in Emily Owen's eyes, and then her whole body floated over like a weightless feather, landing between the two iron pillars.

　　She first cut open her own wrist, smearing her blood on the surface of the two iron pillars. Then, placing her hands on each pillar, she closed her eyes and focused her senses.

　　In the next instant, Emily Owen heard ferocious beastly roars, and two strange spiritual wills rushed into her mind at the same time.

　　Although these wills were only at the eighth rank, which was nothing to her,

　　they were incredibly refined and pure, singular and focused, sharp and domineering to the extreme.

　　Emily Owen vaguely sensed that beneath the ground here, there were two pitch-black fierce beasts, pinned down by countless blades, unable to move, roaring at her in fury.

　　One had the body of a jackal and the head of a dragon, resembling a "Yazi"; the other looked like a lion, its whole body wreathed in smoke and fire, as if it were a "Suanni".

　　However, their forms were extremely small, even a bit smaller than a six-month-old kitten.

　　These were not real fierce beasts, but fiendish spirits condensed by the special environment of this place.

　　But now that the fiends had gained sentience, they were lurking and enduring, waiting for the chance to transform into dragons.

　　Emily Owen couldn't help but curve her lips slightly, a strong look of desire appearing in her eyes.

　　At that very moment, Emily Owen suddenly sensed danger.

　　"Who's there?"

　　With this shout, a burly figure suddenly darted swiftly through the night.

　　From a distance, Emily Owen saw that it was the hall master, Brian Reed.

　　She clicked her tongue in slight frustration, quickly wiped the blood off the iron pillars, and then, like a fleeting shadow, silently melted back into the darkness.

　　By the time Brian Reed arrived in the air, the place was already empty, with nothing out of the ordinary.

　　He couldn't help but frown deeply, wondering if his earlier sense had been just an illusion.

Chapter Six: King of Martial Might

　　Henry Owen had a nightmare.

　　In the dream, he stood before a grand and imposing mausoleum.

　　In front of the tomb was a huge white marble stele, about three zhang tall, with a line of bright red characters carved in bold, powerful strokes, striking and awe-inspiring.

　　It read: [Tomb of the King of Martial Might of Daning, Grand General of Anbei, Qin Muge]!

　　On both sides of the tombstone, a large group of men and women in ancient white mourning clothes wailed and wept, their cries full of tears.

　　In the distance, there was also a vast crowd of soldiers with hemp on their heads, dressed in white clothes and armor, lined up densely from the mountainside all the way down to the foot of the mountain, like a sea of people.

　　Only Henry Owen was dressed in a bright red wedding robe, the kind worn by ancient grooms, completely out of place with the surroundings.

　　For some reason, although Henry Owen was clearly still alive, he couldn't move his body.

　　He was carried into a coffin by several burly, tower-like men.

　　On the right side of the coffin lay a female general.

　　She wore mighty red-gold armor, her face covered by a mask, her hands folded over her abdomen, motionless and silent.

　　Henry Owen saw outside the coffin a solemn-faced middle-aged man, about forty years old, looking at him with a mournful expression.

　　But in the man's eyes was an endless coldness, enough to freeze the heart.

　　—That seemed to be his uncle.

　　Behind the middle-aged man was a crowd of shadowy figures, who seemed to be crying, but there were no tears in their eyes; instead, their lips were curled up, as if secretly laughing.

　　Henry Owen felt an endless rage and hatred welling up in his chest.

　　He wanted to get up and slaughter them all, to create a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, to wipe out these heartless wretches.

　　But he still couldn't move, and could only watch helplessly as the heavy coffin lid pressed down.

　　At that moment, Henry Owen suddenly woke up in shock.

　　He gasped for breath, his heart pounding, his clothes soaked through.

　　For the past three months, he had dreamed of this scene every few days, experiencing an indescribable despair in his sleep.

　　Henry Owen took a deep breath, calming himself.

　　He looked out the window and saw the sky was already turning pale, and the distant sound of bells was ringing.

　　Henry Owen hurriedly changed into the disciple's robe he had just received the day before.

　　He walked out the door and saw Emily Owen washing up under the eaves.

　　The girl had also changed clothes; the tight-fitting disciple's robe accentuated her figure, her slender waist and long legs, and with that face, every detail matched Henry Owen's aesthetic perfectly.

　　Bathed in the morning light, the girl was breathtakingly beautiful.

　　Henry Owen was momentarily dazed, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "General, you're in a good mood today. Is there something to celebrate?"

　　Emily Owen was brushing her teeth, biting on a willow twig, and looked back at him in surprise, her words muffled, "How did you know I'm in a good mood?"

　　"I could tell."

　　Henry Owen picked up a carrying pole from the corner of the wall and walked over. "You used to frown every morning, always preoccupied, but today is different—your brows are relaxed."

　　Emily Owen touched the space between her brows, then let out a laugh.

　　Maybe after three months of hard work, she was finally seeing a glimmer of hope.

　　This guy, he's actually pretty attentive.