Nightjars Hideout
After changing into something more comfortable, I returned to the main room and sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over my eyes while the other held the golden scroll. Even without activating it, the scroll emitted a faint warmth, as if it were alive.
I stared at it, lost in thought.
Ever since Poison Fang's executive fell, the Abyss had been buzzing nonstop. Fear spread faster than rumors ever could. Organizations that once moved in the shadows now hesitated, second-guessing every step they took. Some painted me as a monster, others as a calamity waiting to happen.
Honestly, it was exaggerated.
That executive hadn't been physically strong. Her magic was decent at best. What made her dangerous—and what earned her an executive seat—was her mind. She was crafty, manipulative, the type who killed without ever lifting a blade. People like her were far more troublesome than brute-force fighters.
Which was precisely why she couldn't be left alive.
