Dazed, Rolando subconsciously reached out his hand.
The young Cultivator pulled Rolando up from the ground.
Rolando was a complete wreck. Blood oozing from the gash on his forehead had stained his hair and the left side of his face. His features were a mask of bruises and blood, and his left eye was swollen shut. His magnificent silk clothes were covered in filth; he was utterly squalid.
Numbness and pain shot through his legs, making Rolando unsteady. He nearly collapsed to the ground again.
'I hope nothing's broken,' he thought. He remembered someone viciously stomping on his shin.
The Cultivator steadied him.
"Thank you."
Rolando steadied himself with a hand on the Cultivator's shoulder, trying to keep some distance from his kind savior. He didn't want to get his filth on the man's clean Monk's Robe.
"Don't thank me. Thank God, child," the Cultivator said with a smile.
"You as well... Ah..."
