The Masks of the Treasure Pavilion
"This is the Treasure Pavilion." Cavir Walton explained. He took a few masks from the two servants at the door and handed them to Leon.
The Treasure Pavilion stood at the heart of Ashford City like a silent beast made of gold and black stone.
Its towering entrance was wide enough for several carriages to pass through side by side, yet there was an unusual solemnity to the place. No loud vendors shouted outside. No cultivators gathered in disorder. Even the people entering seemed to unconsciously lower their voices.
A faint fragrance of ancient incense drifted through the air.
Above the entrance hung a massive plaque engraved with three powerful words.
Treasure Pavilion.
The strokes seemed simple, but there was a faint spiritual pressure hidden within them. It was not enough to suppress anyone, but it was enough to remind every visitor that this was not an ordinary place.
Leon glanced at the masks in Cavir Walton's hands.
They were plain.
