Other than the Wolf King controlled by the Sixfold Massacre Armor, along with more Slaughter Statues, Meng Chao encountered no further pursuit or interception.
Looking around, the darkness was filled with battered bulkheads, rust-covered decks, pipes twisted into tangled knots, and shattered machinery—a scene steeped in deathly stillness.
Every now and then, he could see numerous humanoid skeletons, forever frozen in moments of utter terror and boundless shock.
They must have been Turan Orcs from three thousand years ago, still lingering inside the Holy Mountain Temple when the magical explosion occurred.
Although the world-destroying shockwave had failed to blast the entire temple apart in one stroke.
The Spiritual Energy ripples had passed through the shell of the Holy Mountain Temple and, like striking the mountain to shake the tiger, killed every living person inside.
After three thousand years of slumber, the Totem Armor equipped by these Turan Orcs had long since lost 99 percent of its vitality without Spiritual Energy infusion and the nourishment of slaughter, becoming a pool of revolting metallic sludge.
Sensing Meng Chao's arrival, all the metallic sludge let out hissing cries. Countless metal tendrils extended from their former owners, trying to coil around Meng Chao and have him take them away from this barren, tedious, impoverished hellhole to begin a brand-new journey.
Naturally, Meng Chao paid no attention to these inactive quasi-Liquid Metal substances.
He realized that perhaps the magical explosion three thousand years ago had been too severe, or perhaps the mysterious power lurking deep within the Holy Mountain Temple had only just awakened.
In any case, the mysterious power had only had time to make thorough preparations along a fixed route.
If Meng Chao could, like the Wolf King, heed the Summoning of the Ancestral Spirit and advance according to the predetermined route.
He