Chapter 16: Shadow Auction – The Rumor of the Future
The banner of the Morningstar Clan, with its fierce Eye of the Void Dragon woven in crimson and black silk, fluttered proudly and defiantly atop Skull Rock. It beat furiously against the scorching desert wind, claiming its sovereignty over the white sands.
Two weeks had passed since the fall of the Path-Devourer. In that short time, legends of the calamity's annihilation had already begun to filter through nomad caravans and mercenaries toward the continent's trade routes. The rumors were as varied as they were terrifying: some said an ancient god had awakened; others claimed the Morningstars summoned the shadows themselves and that, under the command of a white-haired youth, ancestral monsters were turned to harmless dust.
In the vast obsidian cavern, now transformed into a true military citadel, activity was ceaseless. The blacksmiths and artisans who had arrived with the three hundred refugees worked day and night, smelting the massive carapace and bones of the Path-Devourer, forging armors and weapons that radiated a faint Qi of death.
In one area of the massive subterranean plaza, the twins were training under Kael's severe, golden gaze.
Violeta executed her routine with lethal coldness. Every stroke of her new sword, the Lunar Frost Waltz, left a trail of freezing mist in the hot cavern air. The pressure of her Yin affinity merged perfectly with the increased gravity. A few meters away, Eris was an erupting volcano. She wielded the heavy Heaven-Piercing Phoenix Spear, igniting the shaft with blasts of crimson fire, trying to channel her explosive temper into precise strikes to pierce the practice shields.
Kael, watching how the two fragile girls from a month ago were becoming relentless assassins, couldn't help but smile.
Will they be ready to face the intrigues of the major clans? Kael thought, remembering the pain of his own weakness in the past. But he immediately dismissed the doubt. If I could swallow my fear to assimilate the wind, they can burn and freeze theirs too.
Meanwhile, in the command chamber atop the obsidian formations, Samael meditated, seated upon a gloomy and majestic throne forged and carved from the Path-Devourer's largest fangs.
The feeling of having almost four hundred people prospering under his command was pleasant, but Samael knew better than anyone how ephemeral peace was. The weight of the invisible crown kept him alert. Every victory didn't just bring glory; it brought enemies with larger fangs.
Samael opened his left eye. The System interface floated in his retina.
[Clan Status: Euphoria, Fanatical Loyalty, and Alert.]
[Regional Influence: +350%. The title "Sovereign of the Desert" is gaining conceptual traction.]
[Tactical Warning: Risk of hostile Valois spies in border settlements: Critical.]
But what truly occupied Samael's mind weren't the spies, but the massive scan he had performed on the three hundred refugees upon their arrival. The main branch of the original clan had been pathetically blind. Among that mass of dirty, frightened exiles, Samael's System had detected three anomalies that defied the rules of Heaven.
[ABSOLUTE TALENT ALERT! Three individuals with "Golden Destiny" detected in the refugee population.]
System Note: Golden Destiny is equivalent to "Protagonist's Luck". These individuals are destined to change the era.
Samael had acted immediately, pulling them from anonymity and elevating them to the apex of power in his nascent empire.
The heavy stone doors of the command room opened.
Three figures entered, walking with a synchrony that denoted mutual respect, albeit tinged with palpable caution.
On the left walked Cedric Morningstar. His short, messy silver hair framed a sharp face with aristocratic features and steel-gray eyes that seemed to scan ten variables per second. He wore impeccable white and gray robes covered in sealing runes. Samael knew his secret thanks to the System: Cedric wasn't an ordinary genius; he was a Regressor, a soul who had traveled back in time, bringing the strategies of future wars with him. He was calculating, always had three backup plans, and hid his lethality behind a friendly smile.
In the center advanced Xylia Morningstar. If Seraphina radiated the calm of an Ice Empress, Xylia was a contained storm. Her long silver hair fell like a cascade down her back, and her eyes were a sparkling, electric purple that betrayed her affinity. She wore a simple jade diadem and dark purple-blue robes. The System had classified her as a Reincarnated Thunder Empress. She was charismatic, but her electric eyes hid the trauma of a past betrayal; she was cold, analytical, and trusted absolutely no one who hadn't bled for the family.
On the right walked Elowen Morningstar. Her appearance was a total contrast to the other two. Her long brown hair, intertwined with natural green streaks, fell over her shoulders, always adorned with a living flower that fed on her Qi. Her luminous green eyes and delicate features gave her a deeply maternal, sweet, and approachable air. She wore earth and green-toned robes. However, Samael knew her gentle smile was the clan's biggest trap: Elowen was the Supreme War Alchemist, a woman whose pacifism level was zero, as she viewed enemy armies literally as "iron-rich fertilizer" and raw material for her elixirs.
The three took a knee before the bone throne.
"Rise, my Pillars," Samael ordered, resting his chin on his fist. "What news does the wind bring from the border, Cedric?"
Cedric stood, smoothing his robes elegantly, and pulled out a jade tablet filled with intricate, encrypted notes. His regressor mind was already weaving webs in the underworld.
"Patriarch, fresh rumors confirmed by my Shadows on the outside," Cedric began, his voice deep and highly controlled. "The Golden Arena auction house, located in South Wind City, is hosting a high-level clandestine event tomorrow night. They've announced the sale of a batch of 'scrap' from ancient ruins. However, among the leaked manifests, I've tracked the exact description of a black cauldron, lined with pre-imperial medicinal symbols and thermal sealing runes."
Absolute silence fell over the room.
Elowen's green eyes lit up with an almost manic gleam, and a sweet, disturbing smile spread across her face.
"The Medicine King's Cauldron?" Elowen whispered, rubbing her hands together. "Oh, heavens... If I manage to get my hands on that relic, toxin extraction efficiency will increase by four hundred percent. I could refine the acidic blood of those Valois hounds and turn it into an explosive paste that melts armor. It would be such a sad waste for it to sit rusting in the hands of ignorant merchants."
"That's not all," Cedric continued, looking at Samael. "I believe, based on the movement patterns of mercenary caravans, that the mythical Blue Phoenix Ice Crown, a Heaven Grade Yin relic, might be the surprise item of the event. Both pieces would change the rules of the game for us. And snatching them right under high society's nose would be a devastating blow to the reputation of the Valois and the local ruling family, the Black Falcons."
Samael nodded slowly. A Heaven Grade relic for Seraphina and the ultimate Cauldron for Elowen. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.
"Prepare fake identities, concealment cloaks, and three alternate escape routes, Cedric," Samael ordered without hesitation. "We are going to South Wind City. Take Kael as shock guard. And I will prepare Violeta and Eris to accompany us."
Xylia frowned, her electric eyes flashing with analytical concern.
"Patriarch, with all due respect," Xylia intervened, her tone measured but firm. "The twins bear the Taboo Destiny and are the primary target of the Northern Empire. Taking them to the most corrupt city on the border is an immense tactical risk. The outside world is unforgiving."
Samael stared at her. He appreciated the Thunder Empress's caution, but his vision was different.
"I know, Xylia. But hiding them in this cavern forever will only forge glass weapons that will shatter at the first clash with political reality," Samael replied. "I want them to breathe the air of the outside world. I want to see if our steel pillars can withstand the pressure of being surrounded by smiling enemies. If they can't survive an auction, they won't survive the holy war that is coming."
Xylia nodded slowly, accepting her Sovereign's undeniable logic.
"Furthermore," Samael added, rising from the throne, his 1.90-meter height casting an imposing shadow. "We won't leave the nest unprotected. Elowen, Cedric, and Xylia: from this moment on, you three will lead the newly formed Pavilions of this empire."
Samael walked toward them, bestowing authority with every word.
"Elowen, you will take command of the Medicine and Alchemy Pavilion. Every herb, core, and enemy corpse will be your resource. Make our warriors immortal and make our enemies die coughing up blood."
"Gladly, Patriarch," Elowen smiled, offering a sweet bow. "We have plenty of Valois 'fertilizer' to work on."
"Cedric. You will lead the Pavilion of Shadows. Intelligence, espionage, and preemptive assassination. I want eyes in every city on the continent. Let no army march without us knowing how many soldiers limp on their left leg."
"I already have the foundation operating, my Lord," Cedric replied, his gray eyes shining with calculated ambition.
"Xylia. You will head the Martial Dragon Pavilion. Discipline, siege tactics, and troop instruction. Mold these three hundred civilians until they become demons of war who fear neither death nor lightning."
Xylia, always controlled, nodded with perfect martial elegance. However, as her gaze crossed with Cedric's, a fleeting spark of rivalry flashed. Two ancient souls, a Regressor and a Reincarnator, sizing each other up under the shadow of the same Sovereign. No one here will stagnate, Xylia thought. The glory of being the Patriarch's main sword will go to whoever earns it in blood.
"And while I am gone," Samael finished, his voice turning deep and resonating throughout the cave until it reached the ears of the disciples in the plaza, "Seraphina will be the Acting Matriarch. Her word is my word. Her decree is my decree. When we return with the loot, we will hold the official wedding. And on that day, the Morningstar Clan will cease to be a whispered legend in the desert and become a history written in fire above the capitals of the world."
A deafening, unanimous roar of military approval, charged with fanaticism, made the obsidian walls tremble. For a few seconds, even the skeptical Xylia and the cynical Cedric felt that, under Samael's command, destiny itself would bend.
They departed three hours before dawn.
The journey was fast and tense. The dunes of the Dragon Bone Desert seemed to shift at will under the moon, like a restless ocean.
Cedric led the formation in his gray cloak, erasing their spiritual tracks with every step. Kael brought up the rear, his hand constantly resting on the hilt of Whisper of the North. Samael walked in the center with the twins. Violeta and Eris were wrapped in thick, dark fabric cloaks woven with concealment runes provided by the System. Their hoods hid their characteristic white hair and the heterochromia of their eyes, completely suppressing the red aura of their Taboo Destiny.
During a brief stop to replenish water at a rocky oasis, Eris adjusted her uncomfortable hood and whispered, clearly frustrated.
"Why so much damn surveillance and camouflage?" Eris grumbled. "We just tore apart a monster that looked like a mountain. What are we hiding from?"
Kael, remaining alert to the shifting sand, answered her in a low but severe voice.
"The city isn't like this desert, kid. Out here, the monsters roar before they try to eat you, and you can cut their heads off. Inside, in civilization, danger smiles at you, bows to you, offers you a cup of poisoned tea, and then slits your throat while you sleep."
Cedric nodded, approaching them with a leather map in hand.
"In South Wind City, even the sewer rats and the beggars have ears that answer to the Black Falcon family or Valois spies," Cedric warned, his gray eyes evaluating the twins. "Trust nothing. Do not lower your guard for a single instant. One wrong look, one leaked aura, and we'll have an Origin army blocking the gates."
Upon leaving the red sands and spotting the city at noon, the change was overwhelming.
South Wind City was a massive bulwark walled in sandstone and black steel. Caravans of enormous beasts of burden, hardened mercenaries, and merchants in bright silks crowded the gigantic bronze gates. Heavily armed guards checked safe-conduct passes and spatial rings under a relentless sun. High atop the walls fluttered flags bearing the ruling family's emblem: a black falcon diving toward a golden skull.
Cedric paid the steep toll at the main gate with a few mid-grade spiritual stones and a coldly practiced smile, handing over perfect counterfeit passes he had created the night before.
"We are Jade merchants from the Eastern Provinces," Cedric told the guards with a fluent, distinct accent. "We've come for the auction."
The guards nodded lazily and let them pass.
Once inside, the sensory assault hit the twins. The wide cobblestone streets were packed. The air smelled strongly of cheap incense, roasted meat, the sweat of spiritual mounts, and a subtle, unmistakable undertone of spilled blood. Vendors shouted their wares, luxury brothels opened their balconies, and blacksmiths hammered magical anvils. It was vibrant, but every gaze that met theirs in the shadows of the alleys was a threat assessment or an invitation to death.
Violeta clung tightly to her brother Samael's arm beneath her cloak, realizing that urban life was, indeed, a monster far more complex than a giant worm.
Kael tensed instinctively, sliding his thumb over his sword's guard upon spotting a group of five cultivators leaning against a wall, wearing subtle silver pins on their chests: the emblem of a falcon holding a skull, but with icy details that screamed Northern Empire. Undercover Valois spies.
"They're watching us..." Kael whispered, his golden eyes locked on them. "Did they recognize us?"
"They likely sense we're dangerous outsiders, but they can't prove who we are under these cloaks," Cedric muttered, not stopping his forward pace. "Here, the first person to draw a weapon in the middle of the street without a guild-approved excuse will be executed by the city's formations in three seconds. Keep walking."
The group walked smoothly to the heart of the noble district, stopping in front of the Golden Arena Auction House. It was a palatial building, constructed of gleaming white marble and black onyx columns that absorbed the light. Guards at the peak of the Qi Sea realm flanked the solid gold doors.
In the elegant foyer, a chubby manager dressed in excessively shiny silks approached them, rubbing his hands nervously as he felt Samael's suppressed but overwhelming aura.
"Illustrious lords, welcome to the Golden Arena," the manager greeted them, bowing deeply. "Are you here for the clandestine event? If you seek to avoid prying eyes, we have VIP boxes on the second floor, lined with earth-grade sealing runes."
Samael, with his hood still covering half his face, slid a heavy velvet pouch across the polished glass counter. The soft clinking of one hundred High-Grade spiritual stones made the manager's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
"I want Box Number Seven. The one with the best view of the main stage," Samael ordered, his voice deep and devoid of emotion. "And absolutely forget you ever saw us walk through that door."
The manager swallowed hard, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he felt the killing intent floating around Kael. He snatched the pouch at lightning speed.
"O-Of course, my noble lords. Right this way, please."
As they ascended the wide, silent, red-carpeted stairs, escorted by mute servants, Violeta whispered, both amazed and disgusted.
"I have never in my life seen so much absurd luxury... nor have I felt so many poison-laced stares at my back."
"Get used to it, kid," Kael muttered. "In this viper's pit, everything has a price in blood."
Cedric, always analyzing his surroundings, closed his eyes for a second, feeling the building's Qi currents. He immediately perceived three distinct groups of spies crouching near the side entrance and on the roof. Let them try, the Regressor thought, a cold smile crossing his face. I have six lethal escape routes already memorized. Whoever blocks the door will die choking on their own blood.
VIP Box Number Seven was opulent, dark, and absolutely secure. Thick red velvet curtains hid their identities, and the intricate runes on the walls blurred their Qi signatures and blocked any sonic espionage attempts. From that private balcony, the view of the massive semicircular auction stage on the ground floor was perfect.
The clandestine event had already begun. The immense main hall was packed with hidden-faced cultivators, mercenaries, minor sect leaders, and local nobles.
The auction proceeded slowly for the first hour. Minor lots were offered that, to Samael's eyes, were garbage: Mortal Grade swords, domesticated beast cubs, and batches of common advancement pills. Samael watched in absolute silence, leaning against the balcony, using the System's Analytical Eye to scan every object that appeared on the stage. No one around him could imagine the monstrous and divine depth of his inner vision, which laid bare the secrets of the world.
Finally, the atmosphere in the room changed. An ebony cart was pushed to the center of the stage under a warm spotlight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the special items from the border ruins," announced the auctioneer, an attractive woman with a magically amplified voice. "Lot 45: A massive, ancient black cauldron of unknown origin. The appraisers assume it is ideal for smelting heavy metals or mixing lethal poisons, given the thickness of its iron."
The auctioneer pulled back the silk cloth, revealing a repulsive cauldron. It was covered in rust, dented on the sides, and looked ready to crumble. The room erupted in murmurs of disappointment and mockery.
But in Box Seven, Samael's violet eyes gleamed.
[Active Identification: Medicine King's Cauldron of a Thousand Poisons.]
[Grade: Mid Heaven (Severely Damaged/Rusted from mistreatment).]
[Secret Note: Contains formations of dormant "Pill Spirits" in its inner walls. By infusing pure Fire Qi, the rust will act as a catalyst, purifying any elixir to 100%.]
Elowen had not been wrong. It was a divine relic disguised as trash.
"Starting price: 500 mid-grade spiritual stones," the woman announced, sounding almost embarrassed by the figure.
Samael slowly raised his numbered placard from the shadows of the box.
"Two thousand."
Samael's voice, amplified by the room's formations, echoed cold and monotone. A ripple of surprise ran through the stalls. Who would spend four times the base value on a rusted cauldron?
Before the auctioneer could call the number, an extremely arrogant, shrill voice, dripping with contempt, rang out from the opulent and exposed Box of Honor, directly opposite Samael's.
"Five thousand stones!"
The auctioneer flashed a dazzling, trained professional smile, bowing toward the Box of Honor.
"An excellent bid from Young Master Jareth, legitimate heir to the revered Black Falcon Family!"
In the illuminated VIP balcony, Jareth, a pale youth dressed in excessive silks and surrounded by concubines and guards, smiled petulantly, waving a metallic feather fan. He didn't care about the cauldron in the slightest; he just wanted to crush any outsider who dared raise their voice in his city.
Kael leaned toward Samael, clenching his jaw at the youth's arrogance.
"Patriarch... Is this clown dangerous?"
Samael didn't even blink. He kept staring at the cauldron, completely ignoring the young master's existence.
"He's only dangerous to himself, Kael. A fattened pig for the slaughter."
Jareth, annoyed by the sepulchral silence from Box Seven and feeling ignored, stood up, leaning dangerously over the railing, flaunting all the authority of his surname.
"Fifteen thousand spiritual stones!" Jareth shouted, tossing his fan onto his box's table. "I'm only bidding because I am supremely bored by beggar outsiders who think coming here to buy trash gives them the right to breathe the same air as me!"
Several discreet, fawning laughs erupted among the nobles in the main hall, eager to please the city's future tyrant.
In the darkness of Box Seven, Samael smiled. It was a smile that caused the room's temperature to drop a couple of degrees. He raised his placard again.
"Twenty thousand High-Grade stones."
The silence that fell over the Golden Arena was absolute. Twenty thousand High-Grade stones were equivalent to the fortune of a small clan for an entire decade.
Samael let the silence stretch for three agonizing seconds before adding, with a glacial tone that projected superior power, aimed directly at Jareth:
"And a piece of life advice, little boy... Even rabid dogs deserve clean bowls to lick their scraps from. Shut your mouth before you choke on your own arrogance."
The panicked, astonished gazes turned violently toward Samael's box, desperately trying to guess what suicidal monster dared to insult the city's heir in such a brutal and public manner.
Jareth Black Falcon turned purple with pure rage. He slammed his balcony's marble railing hard enough to crack it.
"Guards! Seal the doors to Box Seven immediately!" Jareth shrieked, losing all noble bearing. "Find out who the damn peasant is that dares defy the Black Falcons in their own fucking city!"
In the shadows, Cedric tensed his muscles, channeling Qi into the runes on his sleeves.
"Sir..." Cedric murmured. "Have we exposed ourselves too soon? The auction's Origin-level guards are mobilizing."
Samael raised his wine glass, impassive, taking a slow sip.
"Let them run. Publicly instilled fear is the best camouflage. No mercenary will want to attack someone with this level of resources first."
The auctioneer, pale and sweating profusely from the political tension about to explode in her hall, struck the wooden gavel with urgency, desperate to get the cursed object off the stage.
"S-Sold! The ancient black cauldron is awarded to the illustrious lord in private box number seven for twenty thousand High-Grade stones."
Murmurs swept through the hall like a trail of burning gunpowder.
"Who the hell has that much cash?"
"I've heard rumors that the Morningstars who survived the massacre are hiding in the city... could it be them?"
"Impossible, those refugees are broke..."
Twenty minutes later, with the tension still cutting through the air like a knife, the hall's lighting dimmed drastically. Only a white spotlight illuminated the center of the main stage. Four burly Transcendent Realm guards escorted a small, Qi-proof glass box.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment many have secretly been waiting for," announced the auctioneer, color returning to her face. "The star item of the night. Straight from the ruins of the North Sea, a legendary jewel perfect for cultivators of cold bloodlines... The Blue Phoenix Ice Crown!"
They removed the cover. Inside the glass levitated a dazzling crown, forged from what appeared to be eternal ice crystal and pure platinum. It was adorned with sapphires that emitted an aura so cold the security glass fogged up instantly. Samael's System Eye lit up in golden letters, confirming it was an authentic Heaven Grade treasure.
"The starting price is fifty thousand spiritual stones!" the auctioneer cried out.
Jareth Black Falcon, still red with fury and glaring venomously toward Samael's Box Seven, stood up and raised his voice without bothering to look at the relic on the stage. He wanted to restore his shattered pride by crushing his rival's wallet.
"One hundred thousand stones!" Jareth howled, issuing an open challenge.
Violeta swallowed loudly in the darkness of the VIP box. She gripped her cloak's fabric, sweating from nerves at the immense sums being thrown around as if they were pocket change.
"Brother..." Violeta whispered, looking at Samael with her blue eye wide open. "Aren't you going to bid on it? You said it was perfect for Lady Seraphina."
Samael crossed his arms, leaning back in his velvet chair, and slowly shook his head. A smile formed on his face that would have made the Path-Devourer itself tremble had it been there.
"It is a crown worthy of an Empress, indeed. But today I will not spend a single piece of jade on it. We will find... another way to bring it home."
Eris, catching the dark intent in her brother's violet eyes, let out a muffled, playful giggle.
"A secret plan, big brother?" Eris asked.
Samael looked at her with lethal complicity, tracing the rim of his empty glass.
"In the world of merchants and politicians, dear Eris, this is called a hostile takeover. Why would we spend our treasury in an inflated auction... when that poor, idiotic Jareth can buy it, pack it in silk, take it outside the city walls, and hand it directly to us in the dark immensity of the desert for free? No one, listen to me well, no one keeps what belongs to the Morningstar Clan."
Kael discreetly adjusted the heavy sword beneath his cloak, feeling adrenaline replace his nerves.
"I understand the tactical plan, Patriarch. But Jareth will leave heavily escorted. What if his mercenaries surround us at the city gates before we reach the desert?"
"Then, Kael..." Samael replied, rising from the armchair with a terrifying calm, his Sovereign aura flooding the small sealed room, "make sure those poor bastards pray to their false gods for a decent burial in the dunes."
The bidding ended in a resounding, arrogant victory for the Young Master of the Black Falcon, who celebrated in his box like a monkey with a new trophy, believing he had intimidated the outsider. But the real tension in the building was suffocating. Murmurs erupted everywhere, the Golden Arena's private guard patrols tripled in the exit corridors, and dozens of highly dangerous, evaluating pairs of eyes were fixed on the thick curtains of Box Number Seven.
As Samael and his escort stood to leave the premises, having secured the heavy Medicine King's Cauldron in his spatial ring, Cedric stopped dead. The Regressor closed his eyes and touched his temple. He was receiving an encrypted message via spiritual sound transmission from one of his informants embedded in the city's service.
Cedric's face hardened.
"Patriarch," Cedric whispered, moving quickly to cover the box door's blind spot. "Jareth isn't going to let us leave the city. He has mobilized three squads of blood mercenaries from the lower district and ordered all gates on the west wing closed. Furthermore... my shadows confirm there are three figures bearing the serpent and falcon emblem of the Valois stationed at the side entrance. They are elite."
Samael analyzed the situation in an instant. The System's Analytical Eye tinted his vision, displaying thermal and spiritual contours through the building's marble walls. He saw dozens of glowing red hostile signatures bottling up the main exits. They were closing in like a net.
An invisible, blinking notification popped up in the center of his mind, but it wasn't red; it was a terrifying, unknown black color.
[Critical System Alert: Probability of immediate mortal ambush: 98%.]
[Anomalous Danger: Presence of an extreme elite spiritual signature detected beyond the containment scope of the local Valois. Level parameters inaccessible without direct combat.]
[Tactical Suggestion: Abandon subtlety. Maintain maximum alert.]
Samael didn't move a muscle in his face, but his dragon heart beat with a force that made the wooden floor beneath his boots creak slightly. The war was escalating faster than anticipated.
"Cedric, Kael. Unsheathe under your cloaks. You will cover the rearguard and flanks," Samael ordered with mathematical coldness. "Twins, link to me. Stay in the center. Do not let your Destiny auras leak. If Jareth's thugs break the encirclement and try to surround us... we will form a spearhead and carve our way out, breaking marble walls if necessary. Shoot to kill."
Kael nodded, looking at Samael's broad, straight back with deep admiration mixed with undeniable reverential fear. He always... always seems to have absolute control over reality, Kael thought, feeling his pulse quicken. Even when the entire world seems to be collapsing on our heads, he walks as if he owns the building.
As the group descended the ornate secondary staircase, guided by Cedric's mental escape map, Samael felt an unnatural chill brush the back of his neck. It wasn't the fear of a generic assassin. It was an immense, calculated pressure.
He glanced up slightly toward the shadows of the vaulted ceiling's high beams.
There, hidden on a dark balcony inaccessible to the public, a solitary figure draped in a massive black cloak watched the exit procession. Samael couldn't make out his face, but through the gloom, he saw the figure slowly raise a fine crystal goblet filled with wine as black as night toward him, in a macabre, silent toast.
For a microsecond, the auras of both cultivators crossed in the air fifty meters apart. The space between them turned freezing, and physical reality seemed to distort from the invisible clash of two monstrous wills.
[System: Reiterated warning. Unknown danger of high conceptual level. The chessboard has expanded beyond Valois borders.]
Samael did not look away. Instead of feeling dread, a flame of pure, predatory excitement ignited in his violet eyes. He gave a very slight nod to the observer in the dark, accepting the unspoken challenge, before stepping through the heavy back door into the city alley.
"Let them come," Samael murmured, his hand closing around the hilt of the Odachi on his back, as the first assassins emerged from the alley's shadows with envenomed weapons drawn. "Let every idiot who wants to test their luck tonight come. By dawn, this damn city will not forget the name Morningstar."
As the blood moon rose over the high, corrupt walls of South Wind City, the rumors were already flying like starving crows.
Who was the arrogant, millionaire monster who had dared to publicly spit in Jareth Black Falcon's face? Was it true that the bloody ghosts of the Morningstar Clan, the ones who had just murdered a legendary Path-Devourer, were hiding within the stone walls of the merchant city?
In the shadows of the lower districts, hundreds of mercenaries, hounds, and Valois spies prepared their deadly traps. The blood of the desert vibrated once more with the anticipation of a massacre.
For the first time since their fall from grace, the Morningstar Clan had abandoned defense. They had gone out to actively hunt in the very heart of enemy territory.
And the night was only just beginning.