Genji Wakana's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly at Wang Jiang's sudden appearance.
The man wearing the iconic Court Noble Mask seemed to condense out of the shadows, silent and soundless. The fixed smile on the mask appeared especially eerie in the dimness.
"Where are you going?" Wang Jiang asked. His voice came through the mask, still carrying that steady, almost inflectionless tone, yet Genji Wakana sensed an extremely subtle oddness.
"Tokyo," Genji Wakana replied calmly.
"Now is not a good time." Wang Jiang slowly shook his head. "Though the Eight Clans of the Serpent have yet to sound the drums for a full-scale assault, that old dog Fuma Kotaro has already bared his fangs. He is secretly gathering the Fuma Clan's ninja forces, preparing to purge the underworld organizations attached to us. Tokyo is where the Eight Clans of the Serpent's power is most concentrated, and for us, it is also the most dangerous place."
Genji Wakana listened quietly, but the strange feeling within him became increasingly distinct—the Wang Jiang before him differed somewhat from the one he knew: his rhythm of speech, his habitual phrasing, even the way he stood.
The differences were slight, but to Genji Wakana, who observed everything closely and wanted to kill him at every moment, they were glaring flaws.
What alarmed him even more was that, the instant Wang Jiang had appeared and the light fell upon him, an unprecedented chill had surged from his spine to the back of his head like an icy venomous serpent.
The sensation was even more terrifying than the shudder he had felt when he had first driven a blade into Wang Jiang's heart with his own hands, only to watch him "revive" before his eyes and smile as he asked after his well-being.
The feeling had come abruptly