It was a man. A unique-looking man. He had an even more unique strut. Rather than footsteps, they all heard nothing as he approached them.
It seemed he was drifting, like his feet were barely touching the stone.
He wore robes of deep, midnight blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to move on the fabric. His face was a map of wrinkles, carved by time and terrible knowledge, and his eyes were completely white.
He wasn't blind, but it sure looked at it.
Above his shoulder was the crest of a Scholar Class and a level of 150.
Aethelstan's eyes widened. That was surely Omares the Intelligent. A Lvl 150 Scholar! Imagine! He must know everything in the world about… everything.
The sheer pressure of the man was suffocating, and he barely even had any mana.
The aura wasn't like the sharp, aggressive pressure of a warrior like Azmagrab. It was heavy, like the crushing weight of an ocean.
