He sheathed Pedang Neraka, its crimson eye now a subtle, pulsing warmth against his hip. He looked at his pale hands, the black veins barely visible under the faint light filtering from the window. A torchbearer, you called me. But what kind of light burns in this darkness?
He left the inn, merging seamlessly with the morning crowds. The aroma of freshly baked bread, spiced tea, and street vendor fares filled the air. Children laughed, chasing stray dogs. Cultivators, identifiable by the faint golden Qi shimmering around them, strode with purpose. It was a picture of vibrant life, a scene of serene normalcy.
"It all seems so... innocent," Xiaochen murmured, pulling his hood low. His crimson-ringed eyes scanned the faces of passers-by. "They all look so… content."
"Contentment is a gilde
