Eliron and his group found their way to the central part of the camp, where a rather large, opulent tent stood tall.
It was not Alex's personal tent, but a meeting room that they would be using throughout their journey. Whether it was council meetings or strategy meetings, everything would be held there.
Without knocking, Eliron pulled open the flap of the tent and walked inside the well lit space.
Swooosh!
Immediately, a thunderous gust of mana pounded into him, rushing past his body.
It was not an attack, it was simply the raw, tumultuous mana radiating from the seven individuals in the room.
'So these are the seven oracles…'
They were strong.
From what Eliron could see, every single mage among them had at least reached the early realms of Grand Mage, while the sword men were at the Commander stage.
Yet, there was another presence, one that superseded the rest.
A saint, a walking legend.
