Theron walked forward in wisps of Dark Mana, half hiding his aura and half not. He seemed to have returned to a state he had almost forgotten the feeling of.
No matter the assassin's guild, somehow these walls felt just the same.
In the Daggers of the Night, the walls were earthen, the smell of mildew constantly hanging in the air.
Here, things were very much different. The walls were marbled—dark, and yet carrying with them a sense of grandeur.
The locations couldn't have been more different, and yet they felt so very similar nonetheless.
Theron took another step past an archway, and the scene before him completely changed. He saw seas of assassins, cloaked in black. They moved as though in the hustle and bustle of a metropolis.
This was what the nightlife of the pavilion should have looked like, since cultivators at this level didn't need much sleep. But now it was housed in here, hidden from the world.
