As the gazes of Qin Yuan and his three companions fell upon the gray-robed figure by the window, their steps faltered almost in unison.
The face was unremarkable, the kind of ordinary look that would be lost in a crowd.
But all four remembered him from the Mist Forest yesterday. He had wielded a longsword, clashing head-on with a Grandmaster for over ten rounds without losing ground, before retreating with ease.
A confrontation of that level was deeply impressive and truly hard to forget.
Qin Yuan was the first to move, walking toward Fang Han's table.
He stopped three paces from the table, cupped his fist in a salute, and spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried a clear solemnity:
"Senior."
Lin Qingyin, Chu Jinghong, and Zhen Feixuan also approached one after another, each cupping their fists in a gesture of respect.
No more words were exchanged, but their posture was enough to convey their attitude.
