A voice, low and malicious, echoed from the darkness around him. "You've meddled again, I see."
The man turned his head, trying to find the speaker. The air grew thick, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Eerie whispers echoed around at a high frequency. But the man didn't seem fazed by the strangeness. He paced toward the black marble throne ahead of him.He seemed fine. But his movements felt a bit forced. Was it the constant grip on his sword's sheath? Or his shoulders raised a little?His shoes screeched to a stop, one after the other. They halted a few feet from the marble throne. A figure instinctively occupied it. Choi Minho sat on the throne. His arms rested on its armrests. A black fedora hid his face. He wore white pants and a long black jacket. They blended with the color of the throne into which he absorbed himself.The man didn't let a second slip away before he bent down on one knee, his head bowed.Chapter 169 - Reasons
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