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That very day, before dusk, snow began to fall again.
Troops that usually huddled in their barracks in such cold began to march.
Martial artists, many of whom had remained silent for months, suddenly began to move.
Swan Pavilion had become the eye of the storm. The center of everything.
Meanwhile, in the vast campus of the Myriad Lineages Academy, there was barely a ripple. The struggles of mortal men? That had nothing to do with them.
Internally, the Academy was already divided into four branches, the Central, Southern, Outsiders, and Artisans.
Central was a patchwork of the former Five Elements Alliance, Lotus Cult, and a number of minor groups with no real fourth or fifth rank inheritances.
Southern was simply the Bladeseekers.
Outsiders referred to the Buddhists and Daoists.
And the Artisans included puppet masters, weaponsmiths, beastmasters, alchemists, and the like.
Right now, Central was the weakest, most of its people had already fled. The Outsiders and Artisans were few in number to begin with. And the Southern camp was undeniably the strongest. Not that the Southern camp cared much about the squabbles of the secular world.
At most, some might chuckle over why a former Bladelord of the Bladeseekers had bothered to get involved in this mess at all.
Zhao Chunxin’s expression was ice.
And when He Shoukang, head of the He Clan, finally stepped onto the platform, her face grew even colder.
He had already inspected the area. The reports from outside pleased him. Satisfied, full of confidence, he now strutted toward the main seat in Swan Pavilion.
He looked at the Princess of the Central Capital seated...
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