The young disciples from the various schools were so used to training in isolation, seeing little beyond the faces of their own seniors, that this gathering ought to have bred pride, rivalry, or contempt.
Yet for all their differences, whether small or great, none of them looked down on the others.
One name kept that impulse in check.
Ossuary Necropolis.
It was not fear that restrained them, but respect.
To them, the sect was an old monster in the truest sense, one that had risen again and again whenever the world turned violent and the tides of chaos swelled too high.
Their ancestors had passed that lesson down carefully.
Proper respect was owed to that sect, for more than one force, more than one family, more than one city would have been reduced to rubble and skulls long ago if not for its hand.
That was why no young master dared stir up trouble here.
That, too, was why Radeon had gone so far north and gambled as boldly as he had.
Now he was merely reaping the harvest.
