A man with a bare torso and shorts suddenly appeared before Glaucus Mirren.
His bronze skin was marred with various scars, which each tell a story of battle.
An aura as fierce as a beast surrounded him and radiated raw power.
Pontus slowly opened his eyes with a glint of cold light flashing.
Glaucus felt his body stiffen the moment he caught sight of Pontus as if he hadn't moved in years.
Pontus' body made sounds like popping beans echoing in the tense air.
"Glaucus, what has happened?" he asked, his voice steady like a giant tiger awakening from slumber.
"Summit Warden of Martial League, Matthew Larson, is here. You’re the only one who can intervene now," Glaucus replied.
The torrential rain cascaded over Pontus as if washing away the remnants of his long isolation.
Pontus paused and took aback at Glaucus’ words.
"Is it Errol from the Martial Alliance?"
Pontus had become the leader of the Martial Alliance in his twenties, more than thirty years ago. But he had since chosen to seclude himself, seeking to reach higher realms of martial arts.
"How long has it been?" he inquired and looked directly at Glaucus.
"Pontus, it’s been over thirty years."
Pontus Mirren gazed at the marks time had left on Glaucus. A flicker of nostalgia passed through his eyes.
"Glaucus, you’ve grown old."
Though he was deeply immersed in martial pursuits, he still held a fondness for his brother.
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