The instant He Ling stepped out of the secret realm, a foul wind carrying the stench of rotting flesh rushed toward her, nearly knocking the jade hairpin from her hair.
Zhao Shuo, Ding Xuan, and the others followed close behind, but their steps abruptly froze the moment they crossed out of the secret realm.
The scene before them looked like a scroll depicting purgatory. The shattered corpses of eighth-order Demon Beasts were piled into a small mountain, broken fangs deeply embedded in the scorched earth, while turbid beast blood had long since congealed into purplish-black hard clumps that gleamed with an eerie, oily sheen beneath the sunlight.
The mingled stench of rotting flesh and blood was suffocating. Even Ding Xuan, who had seen her share of battlefields, could not help frowning. She forced herself toward the center of the field, but the soles of her boots slipped in the pool of blood, and she nearly fell.
The overwhelming stench of blood mixed with the foul odor of rotting flesh made the faces of some Nascent Soul Realm disciples who had never seen much of the world turn deathly pale. One after another, they turned around and started vomiting violently.
Su Fan stood in the middle of Corpse Mountain. Dark golden dragon scales shimmered beneath his skin, rising and falling with his breathing as they flowed through his flesh like living things.
He lowered his eyes and looked toward the group. The instant his icy gaze swept over them, He Ling and the others actually took half a step back without realizing it.
The pressure surging in those eyes was plainly the indifference of one looking down upon ants. For no reason at all, it reminded people of the Primordial Fierce Beasts from legend that held dominion over life and death.