From 0:180 to 180:0, it truly is a miracle.
On the distinguished guests' stand of the Empire, the old man in black robes watched helplessly as the protective shield was unexpectedly broken, while Mike's bloodied forehead was only grazed by a sunflower seed shell...
His brow furrowed fiercely, casting a sharp glance towards the Imperial Team's audience seats.
This glance was no small matter; his eyes felt scorched by the sunlight, and with a jolt, he was compelled to quickly withdraw his gaze.
"Dean Davis, could it be that they have a master over there sitting in command? Breaking our assistance?" The follower questioned, puzzled by the adversary.
The old man snorted coldly: "That barren Eastern world, without even a decent god, what kind of master could they have? It's nothing more than some lone ghosts causing trouble. I'm hungry, let's not bother with them for this match; we'll show them next time!"
