The train finally arrived at Zothril's capital city, Velorath. The moment Loki stepped off the train, he immediately noticed how different Velorath was from Leim City.
He didn't even need to use his mana sense to notice the presence of numerous grandmaster-level martial artists.
This city didn't just house martial artists — it breathed them.
Towering spires of obsidian stone and silver steel glinted under the afternoon sun, many of them etched with clan insignias and ancient calligraphy. Monks and mercenaries, young disciples and old masters, all walked the bustling streets, robes fluttering, blades sheathed in ceremonial wraps, eyes sharp.
Some leapt across rooftops with impossible grace. Others stood unmoving in meditation, yet the ground around them quivered ever so slightly from the power they held in check.
Cars flowed through the streets, mixing the modern with the mystical. A few grandmasters even kept pace, sprinting beside them, wind trailing in their wake.
