Scouts were everywhere. Scouts were a norm. To the factions that thrived in the Underground, it was necessary. Among the streets and alleyways, they talked in secrecy and in whispers and reverence. Scouts prepared for the ones they served.
’In the grand sche of the Underground, they are another corpse on the streets.’
"The Unorthodox Sect’s fighters have been impressive," one scout said, leaning on the wall. "But we need soone with more versatility. Soone who can handle both close and ranged combat. You know how Master Wang can be."
"Agreed," another replied. "We should consider approaching—"
The scout’s words were cut off, suddenly freezing. The others noticed his abrupt stillness and followed his gaze into the darkness.
"I sense soone," the scout said, his voice low and tense. "We’re being watched."
The other three scouts tensed. They scanned their surroundings. The streets were busy. Impossible to pick out what was what.
That ant the alleyway was—
"Hello there."
They flinched. From the darkness, Dasha Pang appeared, Venetian mask and non-threatening deanor and all. The two scouts were put off by his presence and the swordsman of the three unsheathed his sword
"State your business or die."
"You work under Master Wang Lun, the leader of the Pure Water Sect. I hear he owns all the private rooms on floor 76."
So close to the nineties, so close to the Floor Masters, yet so far.
"I said state your business," the scout repeated, pointing his sword. "Or die."
"Take to him. I have a proposition."
"And why should we do that?"
"Your goal is the sa as mine: the dismantlent of the Imperial Sect."
Glances were exchanged. Then, they looked back at Dasha and the encroaching darkness.
***
One arena and many rooms surrounding it. That was what the floors above fifty consisted of. Rather than rabble, the fighters were treated like athletes. Long, fancy halls lined with carpets. Doors that were sealed with magic circles. A purple neon hue of light riding along the edges.
Dasha was escorted with a sword pointed behind him. There was no trust.
The door opened.
Wang Lun sat on the bed in the private room on floor 76 of the Dark Tower, his purple robe immaculate, two silver rings glinting on his fingers. The room itself was fancy yet untouched. His sword lay across his lap, a silent threat. As Dasha entered, escorted by the three scouts, Wang’s piercing gaze locked onto him.
"Ah, the visitor arrives," Wang Lun said.
So he sensed him. As expected.
Broad and scruffy and unshaven, Master Wang Lun’s light-blue hanfu was half-ripped down the chest. A twisted shade of dark purple coloured his short hair, two red lines ran down his eyes, cheeks, and chest, and a lip was scarred at the left corner.
"These last months, I have been contemplating the great Emperors of the White Abyss. The Eternal Emperor of Japan, the Kangxi Emperor of China — such power they wielded in life and in death." Wang Lung paused, his eyes seeming to look through Dasha. "As the reincarnation of Maitreya, I see many things beyond mortal ken."
Wang Lun’s expression hardened. His Qi flared up and the gravity of the room tripled. "And what I see before is pure evil. Dasha Pang, why has such darkness graced my presence? Did you think you could hide from with an invisibility cloak?"
He knew his na.
He could read his soul.
He was as mighty as Dasha anticipated. Killing him was impossible. It didn’t matter if Dasha wielded his gauntlets and the Seven-league Boots; this Cultivator was out of his league. Class Eight? Class Seven? Class Six? Dasha could not tell. He could not foresee his might.
"I co on behalf of Kón and Jack."
So if physical power could not win, then that left the power of words.
At the ntion of Kón’s na, Wang Lun’s Qi flickered, diminishing slightly. His eyes narrowed, reassessing the situation. After a mont of tense silence, he addressed the scouts without taking his eyes off Dasha.
"Leave us," Wang Lun commanded. The scouts hesitated for a mont before complying, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
Once alone, Wang Lun leaned forward, his voice low. "Speak then, ssenger. What brings you to the Pure Water Sect? What do Jack and Kón wish for ?"
Dasha never forgot that day. The ntion of the Twin Angels—of Judgent Day and that they were always being watched—
"A bit too hard of a swing," said the man in the flamingo mask. Yes, he definitely knew Jack. "If you keep pushing your luck, not even the White Abyss will protect you from the wrath of the Grand Master of the Templar Order."
Dasha played along, "Is that right?"
"You have awakened, Jack, but the world has not. It is as He said. The Twin Angels That Fell will ascend. Divine retribution will co to Earth. You should have stayed hidden."
This feeling, this silent whirling of thick energy and rising authority of power...
Dasha had felt such energy once before. Days ago, when he was at Tvastar’s Forge.
’This is no masked human. This is a god—!’
By who? The Whispers? Or sothing greater? And why?
Dasha deduced this much. Jack the Ripper and Kón were forrly connected or partners of a larger organization. Jack and Kón disliked the structure and hierarchy of the gods. Wang Lun was the sa.
So Dasha said, "To dismantle the Imperial Sect ans to dismantle the work of the gods, would you not agree? And only by working in the system can we accomplish that. I have a...theatric suggestion."
Those wishing to dismantle the system of the gods. He was parroting these ideals from the Administrator who illustrated the death of Athena in his room and he was borrowing the authority of the god who Dasha figured out. Wang Lung seed incredibly pleased to hear it. This was what he wanted to hear.
"So the Inner Circle is finally making a move. Finally!" Wang Lun contemplated his words and smiled eagerly. "Is this....?"
"The Liberator. The False Man. I am under him." From his cloak, he brought out a bottle. "Would you like a drink?"
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