The tension on the first floor of the Capital Merchant Guild still felt incredibly thick, as if the air itself had frozen into something heavy and suffocating. The remnants of Sylvia's War Sun Flame still danced in the air like reluctant fire ghosts. The guild's normally cold large stone walls now felt warm, and some parts of the wooden registration desk even showed light scorch marks. Fine black ash from Baron Veldor's two guards, who had been reduced to dust, floated gently under the mana crystal lamp light, resembling horrifying dark snow full of omens of death.
