It was a very s.p.a.cious room, whose location only the four Protectors and the High Elders knew of. The floor was ashen-grey, and the walls were of a dark red that seemed to be pulsating with light, as there was a faint glow coming from them, as if they were made with lava."We started announcing the Promotion Compet.i.tion as requested." A man said in a grave voice. He had one knee on the ground and a respectful look on his face.
He had black eyes and hair, and the air around him seemed to be frozen. It was almost as if he was enveloped in a bubble, and everything inside it was full of bone-chilling coldness. A faint mist swirled around him, and his black clothes were covered with frost.
This man was naturally none other than Lawrence Meyer, whose arrogance knew little to no bounds. There was only one man he would kneel to, and that man was sitting in front of him, in a twisted and distorted throne made with charred wood placed atop a small golden platform.
Hanging from the throne was a sword sheathed in a blood-red scabbard. The scabbard was glossy, looking like colored gla.s.s. The black guard had the form of a cross, and an eye-catching red gem that looked like an eye was embedded in it.
It was a discrete sword, seemingly very common, but Lawrence knew better. This was the legendary Crimsonroar, the companion sword of the Founder himself. It was made with the best materials in the world, and was the strongest artifact they had in the sect.
Only the Sect Masters could wield this sword, which was the greatest symbol of their position. Lawrence couldn"t help but give the sword a wistful look, but managed to contain himself.
The man sitting on the throne had short brown hair and clear eyes. He wore red silk clothes perfectly fitting for him, decorated with intricate designs made with golden strings. His features were sharp and his expression was amiable. Even so, Lawrence could only feel uncomfortable as he sensed the terrifying aura that leaked from the man.
The man was looking somewhat distracted as he couldn"t stop moving a shiny dagger between his fingers. It had an incredibly l.u.s.trous blade that seemed to produce its own light.
"Very good." Lars Borgin nodded as he looked at Lawrence kneeling in front of him. The dagger never stopped moving. "Our sect has been on decline for a few decades now. We need to invest in the future. Even if the winners are nothing much, the resources they obtain can be used in their descendants, and eventually the sect will harvest the benefits."
"It will also be good for the Elders to scout for hidden talents in the Outer Sect. Even if the requirements for reaching the Inner Sect are quite loose, we have too few disciples there." Borgin said as he stroked his chin with his free hand.
"It is as sir says." Lawrence nodded, looking at the ground.
"I heard something happened to Daniel a few weeks ago…" Borgin gazed at Lawrence as he said that, and the disgust Lawrence showed in his face didn"t escape his eyes.
"It was taken care of." Lawrence said gritting his teeth. Borgin only let out a sigh hearing that.
"Forget it, you"ll handle things as you wish." Borgin looked at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. "You are dismissed."
Lawrence gave a bow and rose to leave the room. Borgin stared at the ceiling the whole time, his right hand still holding the dagger. With his left hand, he lightly caressed the left armrest of the throne, feeling the crisp texture in his fingers.
"Tell Old Lu he can come in." Borgin said before Lawrence left. Borgin was lost in thought. He looked at the dagger is his hands with a frown. It was a very strange story.
As he was thinking, an old man slowly entered the room. His face was wrinkled and his hair was completely white. He stopped a few meters away from the throne and gave a deep bow. Then, he kneeled with some difficulty.
"Sect Master Borgin." Old Lu greeted as he looked down.
"Tell me about the kid Jake brought to Sky Reach Village." Borgin demanded with a deep voice. Old Lu felt a chill running down his spine.
Old Lu lowered his head even further and started shivering as he spoke. "It was Amon Kressler, sir. Miss Karen brought him to Sky Reach Restaurant."
"I recognized him in a glance, but decided to keep quiet. They chatted for a while and he asked for rice cakes, as he always did when he lived in Sky Reach." Old Lu recounted the facts of that day. "He left soon after. Young master Jake paid Luke to take him to the Outer Sect."
Borgin closed his eyes as he heard Old Lu"s report. "Anything noteworthy about him? Anything strange?" The dagger danced between his fingers, reflecting the light in his face.
Old Lu thought for a moment before saying with a trembling voice. "Y-yes… His hair was ashen-gray and his eyes were golden. I might be wrong, but he had black hair and eyes before."
"You are not wrong. Something changed on him the day Lloyd betrayed us." Borgin was frowning as he said that. He remembered the reports, but he had no idea what Lloyd had done to his son. Either way, it didn"t seem to have taken much of an effect, as his talent was still low.
"Anything else?" Borgin frowned even further. "He was returning from the Scavenging. Did he have a treasure on him? A token? A pair of daggers?"
Old Lu was surprised at the question, and seemed to be in a daze for a moment. His face paled as he grew nervous. Suddenly, he almost jumped from his position. "There is something, sir."
"Speak." Borgin ordered, his eyes shining. The dagger in his hand stopped moving.
"He had a sword strapped to his back." Old Lu said. He felt Borgin"s stare on him, so he started telling details. "It had a black and silver sheath, and the guard was in the shape of a half-moon, with a red jewel on it. I have never seen Lloyd or Rebecca using anything like that, so I found it a bit strange, but didn"t think too much into it."
"Is that all?" Borgin asked with a milder tone.
"Yes, sir. This is all I remember." Old Lu said as he bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the ground.
"Very well. You did a good job." Borgin said as he started moving the dagger again. "You may leave."
Old Lu stood up and gave a deep bow before he left the room.
Borgin was left alone, playing with the dagger in his hands. It was very interesting piece. It had a simple design, but the blade was forged with danasian steel, what made it very precious. Borgin could melt this dagger and its pair and make a new high-grade artifact.
He looked at the golden words that shone above the doorway to this room. As he did that, he started caressing the charred armrest of the throne again.
Legends say that Arthur Royce, the Founder, made this throne when he finished building the sect. He used the wood from the Ashen Heart Tree to build a beautiful, magnificent throne worthy of a king.
The first thing he did when the throne was finished was to set it on fire. He sat on it as the flames blazed and the wood cracked, deforming the once beautiful seat. Then, gazing at the few onlookers preset in the room, he said, "You all know the price we paid for this. We must not be captivated by the beauty of power; we must be disgusted by it."
These words were engraved on the wall opposing the throne, so whoever sat there would see it every time they gazed ahead. A reminder from the greatest cultivator in history to his successors. Still, this was no more than a legend. No one would know the truth, or at least that was what most would think.
There was one existence in the Abyss Sect who knew the truth, because he had been there in that very moment. He had accompanied Arthur for most of his life, and Arthur left the true control of the sect to him.
"Nemeus." Borgin called as he frowned. "What do you think?"
The scarlet sword hanging from the throne flashed, and the air distorted as a figure materialized in front of him.
It was an incredibly tall man, with messy flaming red hair that reached his waist like a mane, and a body so full of muscles one would wonder how he reached that point. His features were crude, and his scarlet eyes were filled wisdom, but also had a savage glint, like a cunning beast.
"I was right." The towering man said with a deep voice that seemed to reach to the depths of one"s mind. "I"ll have to keep an eye on Amon Kressler."