In an unknown location, an ordinary-looking black temple stood at the foot of a mountain.
Surrounding the mountain were many wooden houses, forming a small village.
Everyone in the village wore a black robe embroidered with the image of a mysterious being.
It was eerily quiet, with everyone minding their own business.
On the street, there was no sound of children playing or of animals.
Only the rapid footsteps of people going back and forth could be heard.
Inside the black temple, men and women stood on both sides, staring at the old man seated on the throne at the center.
"Has it been done?" the old man on the throne asked.
"Yes, ancestor." A middle-aged man stepped forward. "But they are holding strong," he added with a slight, shaky voice.
Hmm?
Everyone inside the temple was confused.
How was that possible?
Against such a powerful beast tide, how could a mere mortal city hold on?
