"Forty years old? A Perfected Venerable? The eighth floor of the Heaven-Reaching Tower?!"
Baroque, a burly young man covered in crimson scales who resembled a humanoid tyrannosaurus, slammed his hand on the table, sending ripples across the virtual surface.
"What kind of joke is this?! I was over a hundred when I reached the eighth floor! Has the data been tampered with?"
"Baroque, calm down." An elegant, elf-like woman named Isabel, dressed in a moon-white robe, spoke faintly.
"The Heaven-Reaching Tower was established by headquarters; it can't be faked. Besides, the tower has existed for countless eons and has never made a mistake."
"A race with a ninth-grade bloodline?" A figure completely enveloped in a Dark Cloak, revealing only two points of crimson light, spoke in a hoarse voice thick with contempt and doubt.
