Eric stood trembling beside the bed, staring eagerly at the closed white door. Though it was close, it felt incredibly far away to him.
Back on the mountain, when his Master forced him to practice his skills with silver needles, Eric had thoroughly despised him. Just hearing his master's voice made him uncomfortable all over.
But now, even though he hadn't been off the mountain for long, hearing that same annoying voice again felt incredibly comforting, warm, and pleasant.
Finally, the closed door was pushed open from the outside. An old man in a white robe walked in, empty-handed, no fruit basket or anything.
White robe, tall figure, proud aura it was definitely his Master.
Eric's gaze moved upwards, then suddenly froze.
"Master, what happened to your face?"
Eric limped over quickly, not caring if the wide steps pulled at his groin or his backside. His face was filled with concern.
Master wasn't good at fighting; Eric knew that.
But who would dare do this to him?
