As the foremost sect of the Thirty-Six Western Regions Kingdoms, Zoroastrianism was situated atop a mountain rising from the desert, shaped like a flame. Its people called it the Sacred Mountain.
Moreover, Zoroastrianism seemed to place great importance on this so-called Sacred Mountain. When Su Xin arrived at its foot with his men, what he saw was a scene of incomparable splendor.
Countless crimson flames rose and drifted across the Sacred Mountain, which stood more than five hundred zhang tall.
Yet strengthened by formations, these flames retained their fiery form without actually giving off any heat.
Thus, to outsiders, the Zoroastrianism disciples walking about and going about their business on the Sacred Mountain seemed to be living amid flames, making the sight exceptionally mystical.
Huang Bingcheng, who had come with Su Xin, could not help curling his lip. "Zoroastrianism really does love showing off."
Though Huang Bingcheng said that, he was now wondering whether they ought to add something to Feilong City in the Northwest Circuit to give it a little more grandeur.
For great sects with longstanding inheritances, image was extremely important. Shaolin Temple, for instance, might claim that wherever there was Buddha in one's heart, there was the Mahavira Hall—but in reality, it had decorated its Mahavira Hall with utmost extravagance. The Buddha statues were gilded, formations covered the entire hall, and whenever its doors opened, Buddhist light shone while Buddhist chants filled the air.
Compared to those sects, the Northwest Circuit was exceedingly low-key. At the very least, Feilong City's layout hardly resembled the residence of a True Martial Realm expert; it was much like any other provincial city of Great Zhou.
Looking at Zoroastrianism's Sacred Mountain, wreathed in blazing holy fire, Su Xin's eyes revealed a hint of coldness.
Su Xin had not concealed his tracks