The Northern Lands.
Before the doors of the magnificent hall, Fang Yuan carefully set down enormous bronze-gold cauldrons one by one. There were nine in all, each as tall as a person.
Strangely, though they were cauldrons, their mouths were completely sealed, fitted so tightly that not a single gap could be seen.
The nine cauldrons seemed to weigh tens of thousands of pounds. Even with his cultivation as a Second Realm Grandmaster, beads of sweat had seeped onto his forehead by the time he had arranged them, as though he had exerted tremendous effort.
Once everything was ready, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and stepped forward to knock on the hall doors.
Nearly a month had passed since the withdrawal. Apart from seeing King Yan once during the retreat, he had not seen him for a long time.
He could not help worrying about his current condition.
After all, His Highness King Yan had never spent so long in secluded cultivation while away before. Fang Yuan could not be sure what his condition actually was.
Before his hand could fall, the heavy hall doors slowly opened.
The hall was pitch-black. Even with his eyesight, he could not make out anything within. He only felt that the dark hall resembled the gaping, blood-red maw of a terrifying beast waiting to devour someone.
An indescribable chill rose in his heart. Despite his formidable Grandmaster-level strength, he actually felt a terror that made him want to turn and flee.
As time passed, that chill rapidly intensified, even affecting his mind to some extent.
Just as it was about to exceed what he could endure, the chill suddenly stopped, as though seized by a giant hand.
Only then did Fang Yuan snap back to his senses. His clothes were already soaked