Chapter 324: The Path of a Martial God, The Gate of the Underworld

The scent of blood and ozone had clung to Bruce Yale for what felt like an eternity. It was the perfume of his war, the residue of shattered bones and extinguished lives. But as he stepped over the threshold of his home, another scent replaced it: the simple, clean fragrance of home-cooked food and the faint, sweet smell of the flowers Amelia Looske kept by the window. It was the scent of peace. The silence was profound. Not the tense quiet of a battlefield after the slaughter, but a warm, enveloping...