Seven figures moved stealthily through the shadows of Shamrock Peak, each cloaked in dark robes that merged seamlessly with the night.
Their leader, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, carried a broadsword on his back, its hilt adorned with intricate runes.
Beside him, a lithe woman with silver hair and piercing green eyes held twin daggers, their blades glinting faintly in the moonlight.
The others were equally formidable: a burly man with a war hammer, a slender youth with a bow, an older man clutching a staff, a grim-faced woman with a spear, and a bearded man with a curved sword.
"These Emerald Cove cultivators are soft," muttered the leader, his voice a low growl. "We'll slip in, create some chaos, and be out before they even realize what happened."
"Just remember," the silver-haired woman said, her voice sharp.
