In the silent, grand hall of the Sword Pavilion—a place once lively with the chatter of swordsmen and warriors—there was now nothing but a haunting stillness. The cold marble floors echoed faint footsteps, subtle yet firm, as a figure moved purposefully toward a large, imposing door at the far end of the corridor.
The man pushed the door open, its ancient hinges creaking softly as the wood shifted. As soon as the gap allowed air to flow through, a strong, pungent smell greeted his senses—harsh and acrid, the unmistakable odor of cigarettes. His nose wrinkled, his brows drew together into a frustrated frown, and he immediately raised his voice with irritation.
"Can't you even open the windows?" he barked sharply, his tone both annoyed and exasperated. "This f*cking smell is making me lose my mind."
