The massive vessel of the Black Shores tore through the final stretch of the sea, slicing sharply into the largest port of the Seven Hills.
There was no red carpet, no welcoming ceremony, no cheering crowds, not even anyone overseeing the usually busy and orderly loading and unloading operations.
In its place was a nearly stagnant, tense atmosphere reeking of rust, sea salt, sweat, and the faint stench of burning.
The port felt like a giant beast with tensed muscles, roaring silently.
Before the passenger ship carrying Rover had even come to a complete stop, his gaze was already sweeping across the entire pier.
It looked as if the port had been completely taken over by the Seven Hills military.
However, this was not a violent legion equipped with modern, technological armaments in the traditional sense. What entered his vision was the highly unique army of the Seven Hills.
Unlike Jinzhou's Midnight Rangers, who blended Huanglong's ancient style with modern characteristics, the Seven Hills soldiers present were mostly clad in Roman-style leather cuirasses and pteruges. They carried large oval shields on their shoulders and wielded short swords or spears, with a unified eagle crest engraved on their shields.
Stationed among the crowd were several fierce-looking Griffon Echoes. But at this moment, they wore bridles over their heads and were obediently sitting in place, their leashes held by the gladiators beside them.
Looking closer, one could see faint, weak glows of various attributes flowing across the surfaces of the Seven Hills army's shields and weapons. It was a sign that their masters' resonance energy was primed and ready to strike.
This was undoubtedly an elite armed force composed entirely of Resonators.
They were gladiators, and they were warriors.
They were the stars of the arena, and the sharp blades of the battlefield.
Squads of these gladiator soldiers jogged briskly through the port. The metal scales of their armor clattered together, emitting a heavy, rhythmic clanking sound.
Their strides maintained the same rhythmic tempo as when they emerged from the tunnels of the arena, but their eyes swept their surroundings sharply, filled with the seasoned vigilance of those tempered by the battlefield.
One soldier's arm was wrapped in blood-seeping bandages, while another's shield bore obvious scorch marks and the erosion of frostbite—clear evidence of having survived a bitter battle mixed with various resonance energies.
On the pier, wounded soldiers groaning in pain could be seen everywhere.
The medical personnel of the Seven Hills—who were usually support Resonators wielding plant or water attributes—shuttled busily among them. With soft halos glowing in their hands, they applied basic healing to their comrades' wounds before expertly wrapping them in bandages to stop the bleeding.
Besides the stench of blood, the air was filled with the pungent, residual smells of various resonance energies: the scent of scorched flesh, burnt earth, and a certain decaying, icy aura that felt like the ominous harbinger of the Black Tide.
The number of refugees fleeing from the south was also far greater than expected. Crammed into temporarily designated areas, their faces were etched with terror and exhaustion. They spoke in low voices about the sights they had witnessed in the war zone, their fragmented conversations filled with unsettling words like "Black Tide," "Tacet Discords," "corpses," and "fallen."
The gladiator soldiers guarding the refugees wore stern expressions. Severely understaffed, they struggled to maintain basic order, but the highly strung atmosphere felt ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
Abby flew out from the Tacet Mark, hiding behind Rover and cautiously poking its head out. It sniffed the air and muttered quietly, "Ugh... there's no smell of delicious food... It's all blood, Tacet Discords, Black Tide, and other weird smells. I don't like it here..."
Rover ignored the little guy's complaints. His perception had already spread outward.
What permeated the air wasn't just the Lament, but a restless, collective emotional vortex mixed with fear, resolve, and intense battle lust—and this was precisely the spiritual nourishment the Threnodian desired and loved the most.
As the Threnodian of Spirit and Plague, "Leviathan" was undoubtedly the most sensitive to, and fond of, such emotions. If this collective emotion continued to grow, who knew? Its so-called ultimate weapon, the "Roaming Heaven," might descend rapidly...
The resonance energy here was abnormally active yet utterly chaotic, like countless taut strings that could snap or spiral out of control at any moment.
The moment Rover stepped off the ship and onto the stone pavement of the pier, a squad marched straight toward him.
Leading them was a middle-aged man wearing the toga of a grassroots law enforcement magistrate of the Senate. He wore a formulaic smile on his face, but the depths of his eyes were filled with the bureaucratic caution and imperceptible arrogance typical of his station.
Behind him followed a few clerks and two gladiators who were clearly his guards—these two had steady auras and sharp eyes, far superior to the ordinary soldiers present.
"In the name of the Senate and the people of the Seven Hills," the official blocked Rover's path, his voice adopting a pretentious tone, "welcome to the Seven Hills, guest from afar. However, according to procedure, all incoming vessels and personnel must undergo..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Rover had already stepped right past him, the wind of his movement practically rustling the folds of the official's toga.
"The situation is an emergency; there is no time for formalities." Rover's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable penetrating power that clearly cut through the noise of the port. "Tell me, where are Governor Augusta and Oracle Yuno right now?"
The smile on the official's face instantly froze. He clearly hadn't expected the other party to be so direct and so utterly dismissive of the rules and order established by the Senate.
He hurriedly turned around. Instead of answering Rover's question, he tried to block him again: "Wait, Your Excellency! These are the regulations! We must verify your identity and purpose for visiting, especially during this special period! You..."
RUMBLE—!
Right at that moment, a muffled, thunderous boom violently erupted from the distant skyline to the south of the port. Even the ground beneath their feet trembled slightly.
Immediately after, a blazing pillar of energy, mixed with ominous hues, shot straight into the sky. Although it was extremely far away, one could still feel the terrifying power contained within it.
The people on the pier fell into a deathly silence for a single second.
Then, panic spread among the refugees like a plague, erupting into suppressed sobs and screams of terror.
Almost simultaneously, all the gladiator soldiers in the port tightened their grips on their weapons. The resonance glows of various attributes subconsciously lit up across their bodies. Their gazes swept uniformly toward the south, their faces plastered with solemnity and a deeper, grim resolve.
That direction was exactly where the Sanguis Hunting Grounds of the Seven Hills lay.
Rover's expression darkened completely.
He no longer paid any mind to the Senate official behind him, who was still vainly shouting "According to regulations..." He dashed out of the port at top speed, rushing toward the public cable car station that led directly into the city of Seven Hills.
Time waited for no one. The current situation no longer permitted any form of delay.
Right now, he had to immediately find someone in charge within the Seven Hills city, figure out exactly what had happened on the southern front, locate the Governor and the Oracle, and rush over there at the fastest possible speed.
Yuno... Augusta... Where exactly are you? How are you holding up?
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