The disappearance of the Shi Clan caused a tremendous uproar across the continent. Even the Soul Hall and the Alliance suspended their conflict when the news spread.
All speculation pointed toward the Soul Clan and the Ancient Clan. The Ancient Clan tried desperately to explain, but it was useless. The Soul Clan said nothing at all, since no one could do anything to them anyway.
Still, this matter was said to concern everyone, but in reality, it had little to do with most people for the time being.
Leaving aside the reactions of the other Ancient Races, the Alliance and the Soul Hall resumed their war after only a few days. Just as before, they fought, fought, and fought without stopping, with neither side gaining the upper hand.
Yet amid such warfare, the Alliance continued to grow stronger. In a sense, they had the Soul Hall to thank for that—the Soul Hall had simply made far too many enemies.
The Soul Clan also provided the Soul Hall with some support, but there had been no major moves so far, and it was not enough to change the situation.
During this time, Xiao Heng, within that deadwater space, was rapidly strengthening himself.
A year could be long or short. Countless people were born, and countless others died. Yet for certain people, it was merely a single period of seclusion.
At the center of the deadwater, the black seawater had now faded somewhat. It was still pitch-black, but the energy contained within it had greatly diminished.
A white-haired figure sat cross-legged in the middle of the dead sea. The sea was utterly still. Then, at some unknown moment, a crack appeared. A piece of black "skin" fell from the young man's face, landing on the water and sending faint ripples outward.
"Huff...!"