He stood there, his fair hands stained with cold blood, wielding his longsword. A golden crown with swirls on the sides adorned his head, curling around the back of his ears and keeping his long hair tidy and away from his face. Drops of scarlet liquid dripped from his blade, trickling down to the tip.

"This fool came here asking for his demise," Deming sneered, giving a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes lingering on the lifeless body lying before him.

Draped in white garments that had almost lost their original color, the man had his eyes closed. Blood soaked his long hair, once silky, now a tangled mess.

After a moment of silence, his thunderous voice echoed, "Zixin!"

Dark smoke twisted and churned, forming an onyx vortex. As the haze began to clear, a young man with well-defined features emerged, stepping into a shadow that shimmered with an ethereal darkness. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones created a striking silhouette against the dark backdrop. His eyes mirrored the darkness of the night, absorbing the surrounding light. Flowing black attire, resembling a robe, reached to his feet. Long, black hair framed his face, styled with lengthy bangs that fell to the sides and tied back in a loose, low ponytail.

He bowed before the Astaran Supreme. "Yes, my Lord!"

The grand hall echoed with his voice, the faint rustle of Zixin's movements, and the distant whispers of the darkened space.

Deming's gaze bore into Zixin from above, his lips curling into a tight, dismissive smirk. With a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted his chin, his posture rigid as he commanded in a disdainful tone, "Rise."

"Yes." Zixin rose with grace, facing Deming but casting a sidelong glance at the fallen man before them. "Is that a...?"

"Indeed, a faerie. This is the third spy Muchen has sent this week." With a piercing stare, Deming spoke in an imperious manner, "Prepare for the war council."

Zixin nodded, eyes flickering with stern calculation as he took in the scene. "And what shall be done with him?"

Deming's smirk widened into a cold, predatory grin. "Dispose of him. Make sure it's done discreetly," he paused, his impassive eyes landing on the body, his lips twisting in disgust, "and not on our soil."

With a final, respectful bow, Zixin turned on his heel and neared the fallen man. The dark smoke that had once heralded his arrival began to swirl around him again, concealing his movements. As he approached the body, the shadows closed in, wrapping around the body.