That night, the task administration pavilion was visited by a person wearing a black cloak and a mask on their face. Not an inch of skin showed, not even the voice was identifiable.
At this moment, there were no senior disciples working in the pavilion. All of them had officially left the sect for their final mission as outer court disciples. The remaining workers were either mortals or disciples from older generations who hadn't managed to complete their graduation.
To summarize, almost none of them could be called a powerful cultivator, suitable only for desk jobs.
But since this was right in the heartland of the sect's territory, the workers there weren't really afraid of the secretive, suspicious stranger.
"Do you want to keep your identity hidden for some reason?" The lead administrator asked.
