At the end of the imperial road, a massive shadow stretching between heaven and earth slowly emerged.
It was not a mountain range.
It was a city.
Saint Jia Ma City.
The heart of the Jia Ma Empire.
When that towering outline finally broke free of the horizon and came clearly into view, the entire Mite'er caravan unconsciously slowed its pace.
Even the most elite guards in the convoy—men accustomed to life and death, men who lived with their blades at their throats—could not suppress the awe and longing that appeared on their faces.
The city walls resembled a black dragon sprawled across the land, their backs forged from ten-thousand-year obsidian pressing the entire plain beneath them. Atop the hundred-zhang-high walls, countless enormous ballistae gleamed coldly, standing in grim rows like the fangs of giant beasts.
Within the walls, pointed towers and magnificent domes stood in dense succession, piercing the clouds. Faintly, the piercing cries of eagles and the roars of magical beasts drifted from the depths of the bustling city, mingling with the clamor of countless voices to form a vast, heart-stirring presence unique to the empire's center of power.
Lin Tao rode at the very front of the convoy. He tightened his reins, and his Adam's apple bobbed unconsciously.
He had visited the Imperial Capital several times, yet every time, he was deeply awed by the majesty of this city.
This was the stage of the strong, the crucible of power.
Countless people came here carrying dreams, only to be crushed to pieces in the end.
His gaze drifted unconsciously toward the Black Ironwood Carriage behind him.
This time, what kind of waves would the mysterious Mr. Yan stir up upon this enormous stage?
The closer they came to the city gates, the broader the imperial road