"Prepare to get off."
Fang Qingyu's voice resounded once more, and the atmosphere inside the vehicle had improved significantly.
The car came to a steady halt under the brightly lit building of the Divine Management Bureau.
It was evening, and the leaden gray sky pressed heavily down, the rain though light, carried a bone-chilling cold.
The hall, usually orderly, now buzzed with noise; countless uniformed or casually dressed staff wore grave expressions, moving hurriedly, clutching documents, pushing equipment. The air reeked of disinfectant, sweat, and an invisible tension.
When Fang Qingyu and his party of five stepped into the hall, their bloodstained, muddy, torn combat uniforms, and the lingering scent of smoke and blood, seemed to bring the chilling wind of the battlefield, instantly silencing the surrounding clamor.
Eyes turned uniformly toward them, shock, awe... complex emotions flowed silently.
