“Where’s Anderson Jones?”


    Artoile sped his hands behind his back as he spoke in that unfriendly tone.


    “H-He’s probably in the toilet,” Sicard answered somewhat sheepishly.


    Had Anderson gotten himself into trouble?


    Artoilé scoffed. “Did he go use the toilets at the Empire Hotel?”


    Given everything, Sicard’s title as a general would go to waste if he had not already figured out what


    was going on.


    Anderson’s previous request to undertake the Empire Hotel had been rejected.


    The only reason he was at the Empire Hotel again was probably because he was there to cause


    trouble.


    Sicard gulped. “W-What’s he doing at the Empire Hotel?”


    “This had better have nothing to do with you. If not, I’ll kill you as well!”


    Artoile huffed before he strode off, his bodyguard following closely.


    Sicard returned to his room, grabbed a jacket, and hurried out as well.


    20 minutester, over a dozen patrol cars led a dozen trucks that each carried soldiers to park on the


    main road leading to the Empire Hotel.


    The roads were rtively empty today since the Empire Hotel was not open for business that day.


    Artoile and Sicard got out of their car, and they immediately caught sight of the soldiers standing


    outside the hotel. Sicard was frantic.


    He should have stuck to his intuition and stopped Anderson from leaving the premises.


    Now that even the Warden knew what was going on, there was no way this would be a friendly


    exchange.


    Hopefully, Anderson would remember all the kindness he had shown him and not rat him out.


    “What are you all doing there?”


    Artoile’s voice traveled faster than his feet did.


    The soldiers turned to where the source of the sound was, and looks of gloom immediately appeared


    on their faces when they realized it was the Warden himself.


    Sicard bellowed, “Get in formation!”


    The 2,000 soldiers immediately got in line.


    Artoile walked over, his face devoid of any expression.


    Despite the fact he was already past his 50s, his presence was still a stifling one.


    “All of you, return to the Southern Territory for a month’s worth of Dark Mountain Special Training!”


    Artoile swept his gaze across everyone present.


    All of them felt terrible and disyed unpleasant expressions.


    The Dark Mountain Special Training was one of the most horrendous training ns the Warden had


    ever devised.


    Whenever they entered Dark Mountain, they would, at the very least, emerge with ayer of skin


    removed from their body-and that was if they did not end up dead.


    “Attention!” Sicard suddenly bellowed.


    The soldiers immediately snapped to attention.


    “Right turn!


    “Begin jogging!”


    As themands left Sicard’s lips, all 2,000 soldiers began jogging.


    Finally, Artoile walked toward the hotel entrance.


    The big bloke standing at the door, Bertram, made way for them.


    Inside the lobby, Nash and the others were sitting on the couches and drinking tea.


    Anderson, the second-inmand, and several bodyguards stood together silently.


    Both Artoile and Sicard nced at Anderson’s face which was still swollen from the beating he had


    received.


    Not only did Sicard not plead for justice to be served, but he also shuddered involuntarily.


    “Warden of the Southern Territory…”


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    Nash got to his feet and sped his hands together in greeting.


    There was nothing particrly weing or hostile about his attitude.


    Eric and the others also sped their hands together, just like how Nash had done.


    After all, this was a Warden they were speaking to.


    He had immense amounts of power and also had countless military achievements. They had to show


    him the respect he deserved.


    Sicard nced at Nash. For some reason, he seemed familiar.


    Soon, he recalled where they had met previously.


    The Warden of the Southern Territory’s heart and lungs had been pierced by shrapnel while in battle


    over ten years ago.


    An old master had brought a young boy with him to the Southern Territory.


    That old master had used techniques that went against the wills of the heavens to help the Warden


    regain his life.


    The man standing before him now was that young boy from the past, right?


    Anderson had gotten himself in deep, deep trouble.