In the workshop of Zone 19.
Victor Iron Flame sat upright behind a desk crafted from centuries-old wood, every item on its surface arranged with meticulous precision. He leisurely stirred the amber liquid in his glass with a small Mithril spoon. It was a century-old fine wine from the Elf Royal Court, every drop worth a small fortune. The entire reception room—from the oil paintings depicting Ancient Golem wars hanging on the walls to the soft fire dragon skin carpet underfoot—spoke volumes of the Tieyan Clan's deep-rooted heritage and his own exacting tastes.
Just then, the soft notification chime of an encrypted communication channel rang out.
[Arriving shortly.]
Victor put down his glass, stood up, and walked out the door. He unhurriedly smoothed out his already immaculate Wizard Robe, preparing to welcome his old friend and rival. He really wanted to see what kind of tricks that guy was going to pull this time.
