What made him feel uncomfortable was the area itself.
Mud Alley. It reminded him of the Plum Blossom Marketplace, where beneath the bustling surface lay a web-like expanse of low shanties, home to mortals living off cultivators, a place where people of all kinds gather, and also where he was born.
But Mud Alley was several times more vile than the shantytowns!
The fallen cultivators, after Nocturnal City swallowed their last Spirit Stone, would be provided with food, lodging, and even tokens for entertainment centers so they might have a chance to return.
This is not kindness; it is the final knife to carve away the last thread of vitality, to cut off the last trace of spirit, to obliterate the last shred of hope.
These people, like walking corpses, have their final destination here, in Mud Alley.
In the end, these unstable elements, these potential threats to Nocturnal City, these instigators of tainted reputations, all would perish quietly in Mud Alley.
