Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 70: A Difficult Character

As dawn broke over the city, Aizen approached the grand eastern entrance of the Treasure Pavilion, an imposing seven-story building that dominated Treisenberg’s skyline. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Its towering height and octagonal design made it the most striking landmark, a stronghold of wealth and power controlled by the Demonic Clan.

Two female attendants dressed in red stood watch at the entrance, welcoming guests with smiles. "Please come in, sir," they called as they saw Aizen.

As he was about to enter, a young servant in a green felt hat hurried over, bowing respectfully. "Sir, please, you can leave this horse to me," he said, an ingratiating smile on his face as he offered to take Aizen’s mount.

Aizen casually tossed him the reins and stepped into the first-floor hall of the Pavilion, where a woman in yellow attire approached him with a welcoming smile.

"What would you like to see, sir?" she asked.

Aizen took a moment to observe the hall around him.

The first floor displayed rows of weapons of varying grades.

The most common were refined steel swords, enough to suit the needs of most Sorcery travelers.

Higher-quality swords, like the Hundred-Refinement Steel Swords, were also available.

Such swords, valued around fifty taels of silver, were considered mid-tier Rate Nine weapons, affordable only to those with a fair amount of wealth.

In addition to swords, there were all kinds of weapons of similar quality, all produced by the Demonic Clan’s manufacturing arm.

For a moment, Aizen said nothing, only looking around with a disinterested air.

Then, without warning, he reached out and grasped the woman in yellow by the chin.

She froze, her eyes widening as she gasped softly, not expecting such a bold move, especially within the respected Treasure Pavilion.

From her sleeve, a glint of cold steel slipped down, ready for defense, and other attendants in the hall exchanged wary glances.

However, Aizen ignored the stares, his lips curving into a faint smile as he whispered, "Take me to see Senior Brother Viggo."

These few words seemed to strike a nerve.

The yellow-clad attendant felt her hand tremble, her hidden blade nearly slipping from her grip. She quickly withdrew it, her face transforming from alarm to respect.

The name Viggo wasn’t known to many; only a select few in Treisenberg city knew him. For Aizen to not only know his name but also refer to him as "Senior Brother" meant he wasn’t a local but someone with an inside connection to the Clan.

Satisfied, Aizen released her chin, finding it soft and smooth, like fine porcelain.

Beautiful things, he thought, are always so fragile. He wondered briefly if such a delicate jaw would shatter if he applied real pressure.

Fragility, he mused, was often paired with beauty, and a beautiful woman’s chin might be no different.

The woman in yellow was visibly unsettled, her gaze meeting his cold, smiling eyes.

They seemed to peer straight into her, sending a chill down her spine.

She quickly turned and gestured for him to follow, leading him upstairs without another word. Aizen’s presence had already drawn attention from several other Sorcery artists on the first floor, who were now whispering to each other, speculating about his identity and purpose.

Each floor of the Treasure Pavilion came with restrictions based on the visitor’s status.

The first five floors were accessible to anyone with sufficient wealth, but the sixth and seventh floors required not just money but social rank.

Many wealthy merchants who lacked noble or Sorcery status could only ascend so far, no matter how much silver they brought.

As an inner disciple of the Demonic Clan,Viggo had access to all floors of the Pavilion, and he had the authority to bring others up with him.

Eventually, Aizen was led to the fifth floor and asked to wait, while the yellow-clad attendant went to inform another woman in purple.

Plain in appearance, the purple-clad woman approached him, asking for his identification token.

Aizen, now an outer disciple, had recently received his new token, so he complied. Everyone in the Treasure Pavilion, from the highest master to the lowest servant, was connected to the Demonic Clan.

The young men who served as attendants were typically gray-robed servants, while most of the female attendants were black-robed disciples, assigned here from various Clan branches.

The Demonic Clan was vast, with four main branches and over a hundred thousand black-robed disciples alone, not to mention the countless gray-robed servants.

Each year, many of these lower-ranking disciples were dispatched to the Clan’s various enterprises across the land.

These dispatched disciples lived slightly better than their peers within the sect, receiving monthly stipends and less danger than on the mountain.

However, many of these disciples were under the Clan’s control due to their forced consumption of the Clan’s infamous Demonic Pool Water.

Known throughout the Magus world, this substance was notorious for its effects: any ordinary person who drank it suffered intense, periodic pain that drove them mad before ultimately leading to death.

Only those with high internal power or specialized training could neutralize its poison.

But for most gray-robed and black-robed disciples, resisting the poison was impossible, leaving them dependent on regular antidotes to prolong their lives.

Many disciples within the Clan chose to remain in seclusion to avoid being forced to drink the Demonic Pool Water.

However, once selected, there was no escape; they were bound to the sect and its rules.

Some had attempted rebellion or escape, but most who tried paid with their lives.

In this way, the Demonic Clan expanded yearly, recruiting new members through the deceptive efforts of wandering disciples who lured recruits from the Sorcery world.

Each new recruit brought a small amount of merit points, making it a profitable task that many disciples were eager to undertake.

Under the sect’s powerful array of formations, few who entered the sect could escape, and those who survived had no choice but to grow stronger or die trying.

When Aizen finally met Viggo, the senior disciple was seated at a table, frowning intently at a game board.

He glanced up briefly, gesturing with a hand for Aizen to sit across from him without a word.

Aizen, unbothered by formality, sat in the large chair, his gaze drifting to the game board as if he were studying the pieces.

In truth, he was assessing the man before him, a senior brother within the Demonic Clan and the one tasked with overseeing Treisenberg’s affairs.

Those who reached the inner Clan, even if not yet at the innate Stage, typically had strength bordering on it. Aizen recalled Steward Marques, who oversaw the black-robed disciples in the Hall of Honor.

He suspected that Liu was a peak acquired realm warrior, likely weakened by age or hidden injuries, diminishing his threat.

But Viggo was different. His aura was unfathomable "means hard to explore;, like a vast, deep ocean, with no visible trace of his power.

Unlike the Elder Mustang, whose presence radiated overwhelming pressure,Viggo’s concealed strength made him even more intimidating.

"What are you thinking about instead of watching the game?" a voice broke the silence. Viggo’s frown eased, and his gaze shifted from the game board to Aizen.

His gray hair fell beside his temples, and his eyes, though not sharp, were bright and intense, locking onto Aizen with unwavering focus.

For a moment, Aizen felt as though he had become part of the game board himself, a mere piece studied by Viggo, who seemed to be analyzing his every move.

This was no ordinary gaze—it was the look of someone searching for hidden secrets and tactics, as if Aizen’s very soul were an open book.

Viggo’s scrutiny revealed him to be a man who observed everything with painstaking attention, a man who left no detail unnoticed.

Aizen felt a flash of admiration mixed with unease.

For an inner disciple to show such interest in a newly appointed outer disciple like himself hinted at the complexity of Viggo’s character.

He was a man who treated every task, every person, and every interaction with the same relentless focus.

Aizen quickly realized that Viggo was a formidable presence, not just because of his strength but because of his meticulous nature and keen awareness.

This was a man who saw beyond the surface, a man who could make the simplest gesture seem like a calculated move.

For Aizen, the encounter left a lasting impression.

The Treasure Pavilion, with its layers of hidden authority, was a microcosm of the larger Sorcery world—a world where strength, strategy, and status intertwined.

Facing Viggo was like confronting a piece of this vast and intricate game, one where every move was watched, every player assessed, and every secret quietly unraveled.