Lin Mo walked over to the grand floor-to-ceiling glass window of the seventh-floor vault.
From here, the entire Fourth Ring boulevard stretched out below like a winter tapestry. Down on the snowy sidewalk outside the pavilion gates, a crowd of thirty ragged figures stood shivering in the biting wind.
They wore torn canvas jackets and battered iron breastplates, their weapons wrapped in burlap sacks.
Almost all of them had bandaged arms or limped with heavy steps. Blood seeped through their frostbitten trouser legs, staining the slush beneath their worn boots.
Lin Mo activated his [Pure-Heart Eye Lv.3].
Through the thick spirit-glass, a cluster of thirty bright, unyielding Emerald-Gold Halos (Goodness: 81–91/100) illuminated the gray street corner.
They stood in disciplined ranks, sharing a single battered thermos of hot water, refusing to beg or harass the wealthy shoppers entering the store.
Beside Lin Mo, Han Tie pressed his face against the glass, his eyes widening with anguish.
