Just then, Damian also spotted the old reading glasses in Diluc's hand, and his features instantly twisted with jealousy.
That old geezer—the Ancient One—is so biased! Why does she give equipment to Diluc but only hand me three warnings?
Is it just because I'm an idiot?!
Damian wasn't convinced. Since the big boss wouldn't give it to him, he decided to take matters into his own hands!
With a shameless grin, Damian stepped forward, reached toward Diluc, and asked:
"Hey… Uncle Lu, what good stuff did the big boss give you? Mind if I take a look? I'm not bragging, but I did my training at Panjiayuan…"
Smack!
Diluc didn't even look up. With fluid precision, he swatted away the groping hand—so effortlessly it was clear he'd anticipated this fool's move.
"Tch, you stingy bastard!" Damian rubbed his reddened hand and grumbled, still unconvinced:
"It's just a pair of second-hand reading glasses—the kind you get for 25 yuan for two pairs at a street stall. I wouldn't even take them if they were free!"
And judging by the patina, he thought bitterly, even my grandpa would call me "brother"! Yet there Diluc stood, cradling them like sacred relics.
Diluc ignored the jealous jab entirely and carefully examined the glasses in his hand.
The frames were a simple brown, but the lenses held an indescribable, warm luster.
Slowly, Diluc put them on and scanned the room—the bar, the wine rack, the high stools. Everything looked exactly as it always had.
Just as he focused on observing, a hand silently reached from behind, fingertips nearly brushing the frame.
Smack!
Another crisp slap echoed through the room. Without turning, Diluc had once again intercepted the sneaky assault with uncanny accuracy.
Damian yanked his hand back, a livid red mark blooming across his knuckles. He glared at Diluc with exasperated betrayal, muttering under his breath.
---
———————
Meanwhile, in Kathmandu—on the southern slopes of the Himalayas—Asia lay blanketed beneath a merciless blizzard.
Under a leaden sky, heavy snow fell without end, turning the world into a deathly expanse of gray and white.
The wind howled, whipping ice pellets through the air, slashing visibility to near zero. Mountain ridges flickered in and out of view like slumbering giants stirring in the storm.
Amidst this desolate stillness, only the roar of snow broke the silence—as if nature itself sought to erase all trace of life.
Atop a snow-choked peak, an elderly man sat cross-legged in a simple white robe.
His forehead gleamed, his beard flowed like cascading snow, his cheeks were ruddy, and his expression serene.
Despite the tempest, snowflakes veered away just before touching him—as if the storm itself dared not disturb his peace.
Then, the old man slowly opened his eyes.
Instantly, the blizzard ceased.
Dark clouds unraveled like torn fabric, and golden sunlight pierced through, bathing the snow-draped mountain in a holy radiance.
Sizzle… sizzle…
A circular portal—sparking like welding arcs—flared to life behind him.
From it stepped a tall, dark-skinned man clad in a deep green mage's robe.
With resolute strides and bowed head, he approached the elder and knelt respectfully.
"Supreme Master."
His voice rang solemn against the silent mountaintop.
The old man rose smoothly, radiating an aura vast as the sky.
Sunlight caught in his silver beard, and his eyes—deep as starfields—seemed to pierce through all illusions.
He gave a gentle smile, his voice clear as a mountain spring:
"Wow! It's been years since I last saw you. Old Cai's Ah Kun has grown so much! Tall, strong—not bad at all! Just a pity you're so dark-skinned now…"
He sighed theatrically.
"I told you kids—the sun up here is brutal! No singing, dancing, rapping, or basketball under it for hours on end! But you never listened! And now look at you—black as charcoal!"
Before the Ancient One could finish, the sorcerer stepped forward, flustered.
"Supreme Master, I am not Ah Kun of the Cai family. He was assigned to guard the Hong Kong Sanctum two years ago and hasn't returned to the Holy Land since."
"I am Karl Mordo."
Ancient One's expression didn't flicker. Without missing a beat, she smoothly pivoted:
"You've come at the perfect time, Mordo. There's a small matter I need you to handle."
Mordo immediately stood at attention. "Your command, Your Excellency. I shall give it my utmost."
Ancient One waved a dismissive hand, silver beard glinting. "No need to tense up—it's truly minor."
At the words "minor matter," Mordo's lips twitched. His brow furrowed, and his shoulders coiled like a drawn bowstring.
Last time, she'd called Mephisto's invasion a "small matter."
Thankfully, a mysterious group had intercepted most of the demons before they breached Earth.
The time before that, Dormammu's incursion was also "minor"—though it cost the Ancient One her entire lunch break to banish him.
And the time before that… well, the pattern was clear:
What the Sorcerer Supreme deemed "minor" usually meant apocalyptic-scale chaos.
Seeing Mordo's wary expression, Ancient One continued calmly:
"Not long ago, cracks appeared in the dimensional barrier near the New York Sanctum. Death-aligned dimensional demons have begun seeping through."
"I need you to lead a team there immediately to reinforce and upgrade the temple's defenses. Any questions?"
Mordo exhaled in slight relief—but then frowned.
"No problem. But… what about the demons already inside? Should we eliminate them first?"
Ancient One's smile remained serene as she gazed into the distant sea of clouds.
"Don't worry. Someone else is already handling it. Your only task is to fortify the Sanctum. Nothing more."
Hearing this, Mordo finally relaxed. He bowed deeply.
"Understood. I'll depart for the New York Sanctum at once."
As he finished speaking, a golden portal shimmered open behind him, its edges glittering against the snow.
Mordo gave one final bow to Ancient One—then stepped through, vanishing into the radiant light.
Silence returned to the mountaintop.
Ancient One closed her eyes.
Snowflakes resumed their quiet descent, as if the world had never been disturbed.
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