Kicking the gates open, the Head Cultist strode proudly into Rex's Manor.
Rex's Manor was a luxurious estate in every sense.
Its interior, however, did not follow Azeroth's architectural style. A careful observer could recognize the architectural style of Rex's previous life.
Rex had not been a young child when he crossed into this world. He had already been an adult, with his own convictions and ideas. His values had already taken shape in his previous life.
A single drop of blood falling into the ocean naturally could not change its color and turn the entire ocean red.
The same held true for Rex. Compared to Azeroth, no matter how powerful he was, one man was far too insignificant.
By now, many of Rex's views had already been reshaped by Azeroth. Killing, for instance-he had killed no small number of people by this point. Calling him a mass killer would not have been an exaggeration. Compared to his previous life, when he had never even killed a chicken, these were two utter extremes.
Rex had changed a great deal, but there were still things he held fast to. Like that drop of blood, he could never turn the entire ocean red.
But the blood could still change the spot where it fell.
Its influence might have been limited, but it still made a difference.
Rex had neither the time nor the energy to concern himself with other people's estates, but he had made as many changes as he could to his own.
He had made every part of it better suited to him, with a study courtyard and a garden.
The Head Cultist entered the manor and surveyed his surroundings coldly, resentment gleaming in his eyes. Under his breath, he cursed, "Damn nobles. Every last one of them deserves to