Before the furious, purple-faced Elder Victor could unleash an absolute, cataclysmic strike to salvage his shattered capital pride, a soft, melodious, yet chillingly sharp voice smoothly resonated across the entire fractured plaza.
"Victor... if you or your desperate little entourage take even a single, uncalculated step closer to those marble stairs, I will personally slice your ancient hands clean off your wrists before you can draw a single breath."
Elder Victor instantly froze, a sudden, involuntary tremor of pure instinctive dread running straight down his spine. His heavy, Peak Golden Core aura violently flickered like a candle in a sudden gale as he frantically turned his head toward the source of the voice.
Stepping out from the shadow of a luxurious, floating carriage that had remained silently parked at the edge of the VIP sector was an elegant, middle-aged woman wrapped in pristine, white-and-silver battle robes. It was Elder Heidy.
