The magnificent grand hall was gone.
Those towering men were gone.
All that remained was a ruined hall, corpses strewn across the ground, and two youths sitting cross-legged.
One youth wore armor and held a long blade.
The other was bald, over three meters tall, his bulging muscles seeming forged from gold and iron.
They were bleeding, their flesh split open.
When Chu Qing saw them, a glint of light appeared in their hollow eyes.
Someone was about to open his eyes.
Then:
The next second:
Crack!
The magnificent grand hall appeared once more.
The shattered, muscular men were restored to normal. On the golden throne, an old man over three meters tall stared at him in horror:
"Young man, how many people have you killed?"
Chu Qing drew in his killing intent and swept his gaze around.
If his killing intent had not torn through the illusion just now, he would never have known that everyone in the hall was dead.
However:
Looking at the people in the hall now, he felt dazed.
These people were not dead.
This was the real world.
The ruined hall he had seen before, the corpses littering the ground, had merely been a trick of his eyes.
But how could my eyes be playing tricks on me?
Chu Qing took a deep breath and stared at the old man on the golden throne. "Are you alive, or are you dead?"
The group exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. "Of course we're alive!"
"This is the Lesser Thunderclap Sect!"
"Within the sect, we cannot die."
Chu Qing fell silent.
After a moment, he said to them, "Everyone... this is an illusion, or rather, a spiritual world."
"You saw it yourselves. When I released my killing intent, I could tear apart this thing you created."