Lassim stood frozen as the massive figure at the front of the Shadow Sect group, flanked by the shadowy warriors, took a step forward. The bulky man, taller than most spirit warriors and with a presence that demanded attention—the very opposite of the idea he had in his mind about what an assassin was supposed to be—glanced at Lassim's worn initiate robes and let out a low chuckle, his voice deep and gruff.
"Well, isn't this odd," the man said, his eyes gleaming from behind his mask. "A Spirit Ascension disciple wearing initiate-ranked robes? Tell me, is this some kind of joke? Did the Lightning Sect send you to greet us for a laugh? Or was the battle so devastating that you are actually a Sect Elder who lost his clothes and decided to borrow the first pair of rags he could find?"
The menacing grin beneath his mask widened, his words dripping with sarcasm. The assassins behind him stood silent and still, their eyes trained on Lassim as if they expected him to react.
