The next moment.
A hoarse, low voice, like a broken gong, came from the center of the private room.
Carrying a trace of imperceptible authority and chill, it slowly asked:
"Is everything ready?
There were no loose ends from last night, were there?"
The speaker was a mysterious cultivator clad in a black robe and wearing a black mask.
He sat upright in a broad chair, surrounded by an exceedingly obscure, unfathomable aura—powerful and strange. No one could discern the depth of his cultivation, nor could they see his face or expression.
Only from his voice could one sense a trace of coldness and authority.
His gaze fell upon the young cultivator bowing with lowered head before him. His tone was calm, yet it carried an unquestionable pressure.
At those words, the young cultivator's body trembled slightly. He hurriedly responded respectfully, his tone deferential and humble, without the slightest hesitation:
"Reporting to you, my lord, everything has been fully prepared.
All proprietors who refused to sell their properties have been dealt with cleanly according to your instructions. Not a trace was left behind, nor was anything noticed by outsiders.
The final link last night was also completed smoothly in the early hours of the morning.
Not a single designated target was missed. Everything remains under your control, my lord."
This young cultivator was precisely the black-robed youth who had killed the middle-aged cultivator in the teahouse last night.
Yet before the mysterious cultivator, none of his ruthlessness remained. There was only boundless respect and fear.
"Mm."
The mysterious cultivator in the black mask gave a slight nod. His tone remained flat, devoid of any discernible emotion.
"Well done.
Notify everyone at once. All arrangements are to be in place, ready to act at any moment.
Today will be the day