In the pavilion, the Succubus slowly rose to her feet.
She gently gathered the hem of her robe that hung beyond the railing, then folded her hands before her and slightly tilted her head. Her eyes, hidden beneath the blindfold, quietly watched the three uninvited guests in the garden.
A faint smile rested on her lips.
It was not a happy smile, nor a mocking one, much less a cold sneer.
It was the kind of smile one could only have after witnessing life and death too many times.
Like Death's final tenderness toward the departed before reaping their souls.
"You want to kill me?" she asked.
Her voice remained soft, but this time, it carried something else. Like an undercurrent beneath ice—calm on the surface, yet concealing a whirlpool powerful enough to devour someone whole.
"Or perhaps..."
She tilted her head slightly, and a dim gleam flashed across the runes on her blindfold. "You want this residence too? Haven't you heard that it was already sold at auction? That it has a new owner?"
No one answered.
Golden Swallow's hand clenched tightly around his sword hilt.
Sikong Yun's expression grew increasingly grave. He felt an unease unlike anything he had ever experienced...
That unease did not come from rational analysis, but from instinctive warning—the restless agitation of animals before an earthquake.
Meng Wuya said nothing. He was waiting.
The autumn cicadas continued to chirp.
Their chirping was irritating.
The Succubus gently drew a breath. It was long and slow, as though she were savoring a flavor.
The smell of blood in the garden, the rot of fallen leaves on the autumn wind, and the scents carried by the three uninvited guests.
The metallic scent of spirit stones on Golden Swallow, the mingled scent of wine and rouge on Sikong