The exclusive hangar of the Sharp Sword Club was brightly lit.
Although it was eight o'clock at night, for this group of overly energetic Martial Artists, the nightlife was just beginning.
A black hovercar screeched to a halt at the entrance of Hangar Seven.
Han Feng pushed the door open, got out, and walked straight to the duty office.
The man on duty was a familiar face—Old Zhang, the ground crew member who had handed him a wrench back when Han Feng was repairing the "Gray Donkey."
Upon seeing Han Feng, Old Zhang quickly put down his e-cigarette and stood up.
"Han Feng? Flying this late?"
Old Zhang's tone was warm, even a bit fawning.
Everyone in the club knew by now that this guy was the real deal.
Not only was he skilled, but his methods were ruthless. He had even brought down a behemoth like the Sun Family.
"Get me a 'Hunting Falcon,' the one in the best condition."
