Tap.
Tap, tap...
The sound of footsteps was hollow and far-reaching, carrying an echo.
The Human Emperor's palace was deep and deathly quiet. In the shadows, maidservants with longswords at their waists stood silently, their gazes unwavering, almost fused with the palace itself, so unmoved that even the arrival of this twisted, eerie black shadow could not affect them in the slightest.
The twisted black shadow seemed not unfamiliar with this ancient Human Race palace, and walked step by step toward the deepest part of the hall, the silken curtains retreating again and again along its path.
There was none of the imagined clanging Sword Qi, no Sword Intent stabbing at the senses.
Even the air seemed to carry a deep, tranquil bookish aura, like the Sutra Pavilion of a Sect; it resembled more the study of a scholar than the palace of a Sword Cultivator, with little sense of oppression.
