Zhang Yang stood at the entrance of the manor, the power of the Eighth Turn surging within him, every inch of muscle filled with explosive strength.
Looking at his grandfather across from him, leaning on a dry tobacco rod, and the monsters roaring and crashing against the defenses, his eyes were cold as ice.
"Withdraw your monsters." Zhang Yang spoke, his voice carrying an unquestionable authority.
The old man grinned, revealing yellow teeth: "Dear grandson, don't be so heated."
"These little fellows are just here to warm things up for you. After all, Grandpa has been waiting for this day, for too long."
"What you want is my life." Zhang Yang clenched his fists.
"But I won't let you succeed."
"It's not up to you." The old man slammed the dry tobacco rod onto the ground.
"Your bloodline, your energy, should belong to me! If it weren't for your rebellious father ruining my plans back then, I would have broken through the Ninth Turn long ago!"
