When the Cyan Sect arrived, there was no song of swords.
At the edge of the Black Abyss Rift Valley, where countless demons had gathered, the roar of the churning Blood River and the drone of swarming insect clouds—all this clamor, in the instant a cyan Escape Light tore through the night, simultaneously fell silent for a breath.
It was like all birds meeting a phoenix, all beasts encountering a qilin—an instinctual deference, born from the depths of the bloodline, to a being of absolute perfection.
The Escape Light landed on the naturally formed Black Rock Highlands to the east of the rift valley.
The light subsided.
Revealing a figure.
It was a middle-aged scholar.
He wore a simple, long robe of cyan cloth, the material unremarkable. There was no embroidery, not even along the lapels. From his waist hung only a White Jade Pendant of ordinary make, a faded cyan tassel dangling below it.
His features were plain.
One might even call them gentle.
