Chapter 275
Finishing the kills,they returned to the base.
Seeing the people carrying boxes,the people around couldn’t help but marvel.
"It seems we struck rich again."
Inside the dim-lit chamber of obsidian stone, the scent of iron and shadow hung thick in the air.
The floor beneath Vale Raven echoed his every step as he strode in, his coat still dripping faint trails of blood that hadn’t fully dried. Though the fires in the sconces flickered gently, there was no warmth in this place—only silence, discipline, and fear.
As he entered the inner sanctum of the Assassin Tower, rows of cloaked figures instantly fell to one knee.
"The Heir has arrived."
Their voices rang out like a chant, low and reverent. Heads bowed, fists pressed to the ground in unison. The gathered assassins—men and women of all ages, honed and emotionless—held the pose as if under divine command. Even the higher-ranking shadows on the upper balconies offered a slight nod in solemn greeting.
Vale Raven, young in years but old in presence, walked forward with a predator’s grace. His long blue coat swayed with each step, the dried blood flaking off with soft crackles. His hair was a tangled mess from the fight, yet his blue eyes—icy and emotionless—were what truly defined him. He looked like a man carved from darkness itself, bearing the eerie aura of one who lived more in shadow than in light.
Without sparing a glance at those kneeling, he walked straight to the obsidian throne carved with the sigil of the Tower: a coiling serpent through a skull. He swung the coat off with a flick, tossed it to an attendant, and sat down with an air of quiet dominance.
"Report," Vale said, resting his chin on a gloved hand.
A stooped elder, garbed in deep maroon, stepped forward with practiced calm.