As they turned to leave, the hawk-nosed elder said softly, just loud enough for Mark to hear, "Don't think that you were given a reward, Young man. Outpost forty-seven is a lot more complicated to handle than it seems."
Mark didn't turn around. "Don't worry. I'm not fighting for a reward."
Meanwhile, high above the teleportation hall, nestled in a crystalline tower reserved for diplomatic envoys and celestial envoys-in-hiding, Seri stood by the balcony, small fingers curled over the edge of the silverstone railing. It is the same child who gave the information to the sect that he was wielding an anti-magic weapon.
Behind her, the maid moved quietly, folding linens that didn't need folding. She wore a plain black uniform, modest and crisp.
"Young Miss," she said with a bit of hesitation, "Elder Xi is angry. That soul weapon is not anti-magic."
