Sunlight slanted in through the tall, narrow stained glass windows on both sides, casting brilliant patches of light on the wide steps.
Inside the golden hall, the atmosphere was tranquil and sacred.
Fang Cheng did not immediately speak to make a promise.
He turned around and sat back in the large Golden Throne.
His back rested against the cold chair back, and his arms casually draped over the armrests.
Looking down at the red-haired man kneeling on the ground, he asked in a calm voice:
"Tell me about your background and your personal grievances. What's the story?"
Shanks maintained his position on one knee.
He kept his head down, fists tightly clenched, his broad chest heaving several times.
When he spoke again, his voice was extremely low and suppressed:
