The entire underground ancient hall reverted to deathly silence. Only the scattered ashes on the ground and the oppressive, fearful panting emanating from the distant shadows testified to the events that had just transpired.
Luo Qingchen regained some consciousness amidst the cold and excruciating pain. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. The aftereffects of the depletion of his Chaotic Power surged through his limbs like a tide, with each breath triggering a tearing agony.
Where... is he?
Fragments of memory pieced together slowly like shattered Liu Li. Altar, Transmission Array, Lin Wan'er, Su Xiaowan, Bai Ling'er... and those sinister gray-robed shadows, and finally, the fleeting golden dragon mark on Bai Ling'er's forehead and the dragon roar that shook everything.
They... should have left safely, right?
