As the voice faded, a figure appeared before them.
He wore a cyan scholar's robe and white socks. He was tall and thin, his pale face tinged with an unnatural flush. His most striking features were his upturned, almond-shaped eyes and thin eyebrows that slanted sharply toward his temples, adding a sinister charm to his already handsome face.
But their attention wasn't on him; it was on the small box in his hand.
The suction that had nearly pulled Yuan Wenrui in just moments ago had come from this very box.
Seeing his sneak attack had failed, the cyan-robed man closed the box. His gaze swept over the group before landing on Zhuo Qingyan. He smiled leisurely. "And what do you think, Miss?"
Zhuo Qingyan stared coldly at the man and spat out a single, indifferent word. "Scram."
"Hehehe!" The cyan-robed man chuckled, shaking his head. "I only want the soul of the Mage in your hands. You should feel fortunate, Miss. Why be so unwelcoming?"
