There is a certain quality to power that transcends the merely physical. It hangs in the air like an expensive perfume, except instead of making people think of exotic flowers and overpriced little bottles, it makes them think about their own mortality and whether their life insurance is properly updated.
Moyong Jeong was intimately familiar with this quality. As head of the Moyong family—masters of the blade whose swordsmanship was said to be so precise they could slice a falling raindrop into exactly seven equal parts—he typically emanated it himself. An Immortal-ranker whose very footsteps seemed to carry the weight of the Eastern continent's most illustrious lineage, Jeong had grown accustomed to being the gravitational center of any gathering he deigned to attend.
Today, however, he found himself experiencing something unfamiliar: the sensation of being a mere moon in the presence of a far greater celestial body.
Magnus Draykar. The Martial King.
