Since a Ten Thousand Beasts King appeared among the Stone-eating Scorpions, the beast horde attacks on the Golden Saber Stronghold had, contrary to expectations, decreased instead of increased.
Furthermore, the intensity of each attack was weaker than the last.
In the face of this situation, some rejoiced, celebrating with music and revelry night after night.
But the more experienced elders were filled with dread, sensing a monstrous wave gathering on the horizon.
In a dark hall, within a quiet courtyard.
A gust of wind rustled through the gnarled, ancient trees, sending yellowed leaves fluttering down.
The chief of the Golden Saber Stronghold turned his head, dodging a falling leaf.
He took a deep breath, his expression grave. "Emissary, something is amiss. This abnormality must mean a great calamity is brewing..."
He laid out his speculations for Fang Yang in great detail.
