"Lieutenant Mars," Henry spoke coolly to the duty officer, "could you summon Commander Clarke here?"
The Soldiers of the War Tomb were named after celestial stems and earthly branches—sixty lieutenants commanding fifty of the finest warriors each. Mars was among these elite.
Mars regarded Henry with undisguised contempt, his revulsion plain to see: "The commander is occupied with vital city defenses. Make your request to me."
"As you wish," Henry shrugged. "Have your men sort these fallen warriors by their peak cultivation levels during life."
Mars stood motionless, utterly baffled.
Why would Commander Clarke explicitly forbid his subordinates from touching this insolent whelp with that ridiculous white forelock? Under different circumstances, he'd have taught Henry the meaning of tru
