On a high hill outside the Fairy Ancient City, a figure stood with his head raised, watching everything unfold.
He was an ordinary-looking man with long, slightly curly gray hair, emerald-like eyes, and fair skin. The fierce winds at high altitude whipped his robes about, yet it was impossible to tell his exact age.
He wore a pure black robe that trailed along the ground, its hem embroidered with extremely subtle dark patterns. Without close inspection, they looked like nothing more than creases in old fabric.
The man seemed completely immersed in the beauty of the scene, his face filled with deep yearning and intoxication, as though the slaughterhouse below was the most magnificent painting in his eyes.
Someone appeared behind him, dressed in a similar black robe. His body was hunched, and the edge of his hanging hood obscured his face. Shadows swallowed his features, leaving only a pale chin exposed.
"I remember our generation."
The gray-haired man withdrew his gaze, his eyelids half lowered as he looked at the black-robed figure behind him. In a soft, nostalgic tone, he said, "Do you still remember, Doru? Back then, you shone brilliantly. You charged straight into the top four and were only one step away from becoming the chief of that generation."
"And I was merely a tiny Second-Ring Wizard, not even qualified to participate. I could only stay outside and look up at you with endless admiration."
The black-robed man said nothing. His withered fingers curled slightly within his sleeves, as though those memories were not the beginning of glory for him, but the beginning of some humiliation.
After a moment, a deep, hoarse male voice sounded beneath the black robe, like two rough sheets of sandpaper grinding together.
"The guardian following House Lucien should only be at the