Their eyes were so far from black, barely any even had a dark-colored pupil.
Was it because the blood of the True Sultan had diluted over generations?
Was that it?
'Maybe.'
But even if they were tenth-generation or younger, it didn't matter.
Their power—oh, their power—was still ridiculous.
Even watered down, even diminished, these Magi were leagues beyond the Celestials he'd known before his first death.
Any of them could probably wipe the floor with a Celestial of a higher sub-rank.
The difference was that great.
And that wasn't the only difference.
Here, all Magi followed one of three paths.
There was Sahir, which he already knew as Spell Weaver.
Then there was Kahin, which he'd heard called Arcanist.
And finally, something he'd never come across before:
Dune Guardian—or as the religious here called it, Sultan Al-Sahara.
