The spatial transfer was roughly equivalent to being stuffed inside a massive, spinning teacup and shaken vigorously by an angry giant.
When Lin Ji'an's boots finally slammed onto solid ground, her knees buckled slightly, and she had to lean heavily on her Black Iron Spatula to avoid face-planting into the dirt.
Her stomach did a slow, nauseating flip, threatening to make a reappearance of the breakfast she had shared with Xie Wangchen.
"Ugh," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut until the world stopped spinning like a top. "Zero stars. The Celestial Sword Sect really needs to invest in better portal stabilizers. My internal organs feel like scrambled eggs."
She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the smell of sulfur, rotting corpses, and the terrifying roars of mutated beasts.
The Outer Disciples in the plaza had spent the last twenty-four hours weeping, writing their last wills and testaments, and trading their life savings for basic healing talismans.
