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An Imperial Scholar by day. An assassin by night.
The World of Cultivation has changed.
Elemental Mancers. Flux Mancers. Spirit Mancers. Soul Mancers.
Raining down fire and splitting oceans. Destroying mountains with a single stomp and calming skies with a glance. Controlling the tides of Karma, while wielding the souls of others like a puppeteer tugging on the Lines of Fate.
The most mysterious of them all were Spirit Mancers, a truth that Theron was more than intimately familiar with. Due to one's Tribulation, his life was turned upside down. His family, his rage, his somber sadness becoming nothing more than Bad Karma's fuel for a madman.
He was once a gentle young man, a non-combative Water Mancer who wanted nothing more than to read his novels to the sound of the rain and one day become an Imperial Scholar.
But now...
Everything had changed.
He donned a cloak in the silent night as the clouds above gathered. Pulling its hood over his chilling blue eyes, he stalked off into the darkness.
The first droplets fell.
He would become the nightmare of his enemies, the blade hidden in the shadows of Heaven's tears.
The River of the Night.
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