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... The clinical way he delivered this information, devoid of any emotional inflection, made the account all the more unsettling. It was as if he were reporting on someone else's experience rather than his own harrowing ordeal.

The stark difference between this composed, detached Adrian and the one they had known just two weeks ago couldn't have been more apparent. It was especially evident in the way he addressed even Aurelia and Aria—his own closest people—with the same measured distance ...

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In a fantasy world where martial artists can split mountains and creeks with a wave of their hand and break rivers with a kick, there exists a little restaurant like this.

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There, you can taste egg-fried rice made from phoenix eggs and dragon blood rice.

There, you can drink strong wine brewed from vermillion fruit and water from the fountain of life.

There, you can taste the barbecued meat of a ninth grade supreme beast sprinkled with black pepper.

What? You want to abduct the chef? That’s not going to happen, because there’s a divine beast of unfathomable level, the Hellhound, lying at the entrance.

Oh, that chef also has a robotic assistant that killed a ninth grade supreme being with a single hand and a group of crazy women whose stomachs were conquered.