The laugh, the cruel, mocking, "your-sisters-got-fucked" laugh, filled the dungeon. All three guards laughed. The sound, the echoing, bouncing-off-stone-walls, cruel sound, was there.
Shen Mu, his body, the chained, beaten, bloody body, was there. His eyes, the gold-flecked brown eyes, the eyes that had been defiant, that had been holding on, that had been surviving — those eyes changed.
The gold, the flecks, the gold in his brown eyes, blazed. The sword intent, the suppressed, hidden, prodigy-level sword intent, surged. Not deliberately. Not strategically. Not the calm, calculated, planned release.
The rage. The absolute, past-life, present-life, reality-breaking rage. The rage of a brother who had just heard that his sisters — his eighteen-year-old, virgin, innocent sisters — had been fucked by the man who killed him in his past life.
"You BASTARDS!" he roared.
