Everyone's eyes widened while their jaws dropped as they gaped at Nathan and his entourage, who had appeared out of the blue.
Verily, they were torn between jumping for joy and hanging their heads in embarrassment.
The reality was ironic between words.
As members of the Eight-Nation Alliance, they had gathered that day to discuss going up against Eurasia and Nathan.
Unexpectedly, when they plunged into danger, on the brink of being sabotaged and turned into bondslaves by Max, it was the man himself who came to save them.
For a moment, a flurry of complex emotions flashed across their faces.
Shame, guilt, and gratitude blended together.
When Max saw Nathan, he was shocked beyond words.
But soon, he calmed down.
Eyeing the latter through narrowed eyes, he said with a smirk, “Haha, I originally planned to toy with you slowly, but you surprisingly offered yourself up on a silver platter. Since you're eager to die, don't blame me for granting you your wish.”
After saying that, he ordered evenly, “Gods of Warrior of the Seven Continents, report.”
“At your service!” seven burly Gods of Warrior with varying appearances exclaimed simultaneously.
At the same time, they all took a step forward.
Although there were merely seven of them, they gave others the illusion of a legion, radiating an overwhelming sense of oppression.
Sensing the intense pressure, Hepburn started having difficulty breathing. On top of that, her exquisite face instantly turned deathly pale.
Colin, Daveth, and Betty furtively went on guard, prepared to battle anytime.
Similarly, the bishops and Holy Knights tensed up as though confronting a formidable enemy.
Catherine and the others darted their eyes all around. They surreptitiously backed themselves into a corner of the room, having no desire to be caught in the crossfire. All the while, they wished that they could make themselves invisible so that no one would notice them.
Nathan was the only person there who was still as calm as ever, his expression unchanged.
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