In the gray shadows of dawn, before the sun had fully risen, life surged through the sect's corridors like a beehive stirred by the breath of war. Soldiers' boots struck the ground in measured rhythm, guards barked out commands, and the banners hanging from the towers began to flutter under the chill morning breeze. The sect's colossal gates, engraved with symbols of fire and sword, creaked open slowly, as if answering an ancient call from the age of great battles.
In the outer courtyard, three combat divisions stood in long, disciplined rows—each bearing a distinct presence.
The first wore deep black uniforms threaded with fine gold lines, and on their shoulders gleamed insignias shaped like dragon claws—these were the "Black Claw" unit, specialists in assassination.
The second donned dark crimson robes, marked on the chest with an inverted flame in silver—this was the "Drowned Fire" unit, infamous for their relentless offensive tactics.
