The cavern in Iron Bone Stockade had been converted into an intelligence hub.
A crude map of the Ten Thousand Stars Wasteland hung on the wall, with fragments of ore in different colors marking the seven stockades.
White Snow stood on the stone table, her golden eyes fixed on the seven intelligence reports spread before her... all sent back by rogue cultivator scouts over the past three days.
Old Sun from Black Stone Stockade had been the first to return.
"Deputy Alliance Leader White," said Old Sun, a scrawny man in his forties who scraped out a living gathering star sand on the wasteland, "something's wrong over at Falling Star Harbor. I saw three Stars Pavilion flying boats land at the docks with my own eyes. Everyone who got off wore black robes and masks. No idea where they came from."
White Snow narrowed her golden eyes.
Black robes, masks, Stars Pavilion... those three things together sent a pulse of warmth through the Storage Ring on her left claw.
"How many?"
"Two hundred at least." Old Sun rubbed his hands. "And they've sealed off the abandoned warehouse district east of the docks. Said it was for 'formation maintenance,' but I smelled blood."
Blood.
White Snow's feathers bristled involuntarily. Phoenixes were extraordinarily sensitive to the scent of blood, especially blood tainted with demonic qi.
"And another thing," Old Sun said, lowering his voice further. "I heard something at the Black Market... the heaven-chosen sacrifice is coming."
"The heaven-chosen sacrifice?" White Snow tilted her head.
Old Sun shook his head, fear flashing in his eyes. "Every sixty years, the Stars Pavilion picks three thousand rogue cultivators and takes them away. Says they're 'bestowing immortal fortuity,' but none of those people ever come back."
White Snow said nothing.
She thought of Old Zhou.