Inside the tower, Andrew saw rows of sealed chambers where martial artists were studying manuals and refining their techniques. The closed doors meant each room was occupied, someone inside immersed in learning or researching.
Without pausing, Andrew headed straight for the upper levels. On the ninth floor, he was stopped.
“Hold it right there! Only martial king level and above can enter the floors beyond this point!”
The guards on duty were clearly two military officers. They were not carrying weapons, but their explosive muscles and cold stares showed that neither was ordinary. In fact, these two officers were martial king-level fighters standing guard.
Starting from the tenth floor, the martial arts manuals became precious. Without posting some tough guards, the big shots in the military leadership would not feel secure.
Andrew did not cause any trouble. He had always respected this tower because it had upheld the dreams of countless commoners who sought martial training. He had never lacked resources or a family background, yet Reginald had once thrown him into Chetvine Plaza and left him to fend for himself.
In other words, Andrew had been trained here the same way ordinary youths did.
He let his aura leak slightly and smiled. “I believe my strength qualifies me for the upper floors.”
The officers exchanged uneasy looks. Then, Andrew swung a punch at the testing machine nearby.
The device flashed red instantly, its values hitting the maximum limit. Any higher, and the expensive machine would have broken down on the spot.
“Please, go ahead.”
The two officers immediately straightened, their expressions respectful as they gestured for him to pass.
At the very least, Andrew was on the same level as them. Learning martial arts was not easy, and reaching martial king level made anyone worthy of respect. So, the two officers were very courteous to Andrew.
“Thank you.” After expressing his thanks, Andrew walked up to the tenth floor.
The tenth floor served as a dividing line for the lower levels because anyone who made it here had to be at least martial king level. However, the tenth floor did not seem sparsely populated. In fact, it was somewhat crowded.
Holtrien’s martial arts had always been flourishing, ranking among the strongest in the world. If not, the Western powers would have conquered long ago.
The number of martial kings on this tenth floor reflected Holtrien’s thriving martial arts scene from the sidelines.
Andrew felt gratified by this. Although he came from royalty, he had little affinity for family faction politics. He was especially annoyed by martial arts sects that hoarded their techniques like misers, unwilling to share them with outsiders.
Yet he respected the military—not the bureaucrats or pompous power-holders, but the true soldiers, the iron-blooded warriors who fought only to defend their homeland.
After all, Andrew himself had once been a soldier, carrying his own burning dream of serving his country. That dream, however, had long since turned to dust, buried in memories he no longer wished to recall.
“Well, look who it is, everyone! A rare guest. What a surprise! A stray mutt comes crawling back, gets two full meals, and thinks he’s human again. Instead of staying where he belongs, he dares to step onto our ground? Isn’t he just begging for it?”
On the tenth floor, someone had recognized Andrew.
As expected, the first reactions were scorn, hostility, and open contempt. In an instant, hundreds of pairs of eyes locked onto him, sharp and venomous, like a pack of hungry wolves spotting their hated prey.