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Migration ( 44 )

"I knew you would stubbornly awaken magic, dumbass."

Rowan was gazing around, taking in the intricate details of the cave when a voice sounded from behind him, causing him to turn abruptly.

He was greeted with the sight of a grand throne made of bladed weapons, masterfully twisted into a comfortable and regal seat.

Seated upon the throne was a figure dressed in a modern all-black suit. The figure was masculine, his face concealed by a black and white mask.

Only his glowing golden eyes were visible through the mask, and those eyes were fixated on Rowan.

Rowan stood dumbfounded, about to ask a question. "Wh—"

"Let me guess, you were going to ask, 'Who are you?' right?" the mysterious masked man interjected, his voice tinged with amusement.

Rowan could only nod, a frown creasing his forehead.

The figure on the throne shook his head, stood up, and began strolling toward Rowan.