Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 73: Gathering of Heroes

Aizen put on clean clothes and followed the messenger disciple to a residence in Triesenberg City’s XC District.

The mansion was vast, with two imposing stone lions standing guard by the gate, exuding an aura of power and majesty.

The vermillion doors were studded with bronze nails, and two robust guards in black clothing and hats, each armed with a sword, stood watch.

They respectfully allowed Aizen to enter without obstruction, a clear indication that they recognized him and held him in regard. These guards were likely disciples of the Clan, stationed here as part of Viggo’s retinue.

As they moved through the mansion, passing the front hall, a rock garden, and a long corridor, a small bamboo grove came into view, with a side hall nestled deep within.

From the hall, a faint sound of flutes and laughter drifted out, accompanied by the giggling voices of women.

"Sir, please come in," said two attendants standing by the door of the side hall, bowing respectfully.

The doors were open, revealing a hall with dancing girls clad in light, sheer clothing, nearly half-exposed, graceful and seductive in every movement.

Each dancer was beautiful, their smiles radiant, their figures mesmerizing, and their movements alluring, a true vision of earthly paradise.

As Aizen entered, the guests at the tables on both sides glanced over, and he felt a dozen powerful auras cross through the room, as if the very air had solidified for a moment.

These were all masters—no one here was to be trifled with.

Aizen felt a chill in his heart, though he kept a slight smile on his face as he walked steadily into the hall.

Viggo, seated at the head of the table, raised a hand and greeted him with a faint smile, "Junior Brother Aizen, please take a seat."

There was a row of seats to the right, where two people were already seated—one woman and one man.

Aizen didn’t know their names, but the woman’s seat was positioned such that he would sit directly below her.

She had an attractive face and flowing long hair, but her eyebrows bore a fierce expression, and her beautiful eyes were as cold as iron.

The man, seated higher up, had an elegant demeanor, frequently wearing a gentle smile, exuding charm and poise.

Aizen walked over, his gaze lingering briefly on the woman’s hand holding a wine cup. Her hands weren’t exactly beautiful, but they were sharp and deadly, undoubtedly experienced in killing.

Her fingers had dark red nails, and even her palms seemed faintly tinged with crimson, slender yet strong—her flexibility unmistakable.

A pair of hands showing such unusual traits, and on a woman no less, revealed her identity: she was certainly Simon, the "Scarlet Claw."

"Are you sure you want to sit here?" Aizen was about to walk past the table when a cold, detached voice reached his ears.

She sipped her wine, not looking at him, as if speaking to the air. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Around them, others turned their gaze from the dancers to watch Aizen, anticipating a show. This sort of scene was familiar to them.

Aizen paused slightly. Simon was from the Right Faction, while he was from the Left Faction. She ignored her fellow Right Faction member, Alester, and singled out Aizen, clearly testing him.

He said nothing, circled the table, and prepared to sit. Simon’s eyes flashed, and with a flick of her hand holding the wine cup, the liquid shot out like an arrow aimed straight at Aizen’s face. This technique was swift and fierce, powered by strong internal energy channeled through the cup, forcing the wine to shoot toward his eyes.

Aizen sneered coldly.

Her wine was fast, but his hand was faster.

He raised his hand, and a chilling internal energy burst forth from his palm.

The wine froze into beads of ice upon contact.

"Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!"

With a flick of his wrist, Aizen shot the ice crystals back toward Simon’s forehead like a streak of silver.

The air seemed to drop a few degrees as the icy wine crystals flew, causing several people to narrow their eyes, even the refined man beside Simon momentarily froze his smile.

What was this palm technique? How strong was his internal energy to freeze wine into ice upon touch? This was a true testament to his cultivation.

Simon hadn’t expected such a fierce counterattack.

For the first time, her eyes settled on Aizen, fully acknowledging this new junior brother. The streak of silver ice crystals shot toward her, but with a quick, upward flick of her slightly reddened hand, she shattered them into a fragrant mist with a "pop."

The dense aroma of wine filled the hall, mingling with a chill and a faint metallic scent. Aizen calmly took his seat, smiled faintly at Simon, poured himself a cup of wine, and took a sip. Simon’s expression remained unchanged, though she took a deep look at Aizen. The faint red glow and hint of blood scent in her slender hand slowly faded.

"To drink wine together is to settle grievances."

"Hahaha, Junior Brother Aizen, well done! I am Alester; a pleasure to meet you." The refined man seated above Simon on the right raised his cup to Aizen with a friendly smile.

Aizen gave a slight nod, returning a smile but choosing only to drink without speaking.

On the opposite side, six people were seated, a few of whom watched him intently.

No one introduced them, and Aizen didn’t know their identities.

However, he sensed a dangerous aura from two individuals on the left who seemed even more formidable than Simon..

One of them, with red eyebrows, was busy laughing with a dancer in his arms, seemingly reveling in her company.

A curved, sheathed blade lay on the table before him.

If Aizen guessed correctly, this man was most likely Martin, ranked sixth on the Eastern Courtyard’s Golden Ranking, known as the "Blood Butcher."

Since the Blood Butcher was here, then the man beside him must be the famed "Enchanting Sword" Gidon.

Aizen shifted his gaze to the third seat on the right, where a thin man dressed in black sat across from him.

The man held his sword, his eyes closed, his posture straight and rigid like a sword, with calm yet slightly raised brows that resembled two unsheathed swords.

Though he didn’t seem outwardly powerful, his presence alone, like a blade unsheathed, commanded respect.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the chilling radiance he would emit if he opened his eyes and drew his sword.

The saying goes, "Gulskein never opens his eyes—when he does, it’s to kill."