The apothecary owner's eyes were open, black and hollow, without a trace of light.
Chen Wuya stood where he was, misaligned force flowing through his arms, his palms faintly burning. The moment he drew out a wisp of black qi, a needle-like pain stabbed into his sea of consciousness. The pain surged upward along his meridians, nearly driving him to his knees.
He clenched his teeth, tasting blood on his tongue.
He could not absorb any more.
These people had been controlled too deeply. The brand of the Soul-Seizing Art had already seeped into their spiritual consciousness. If he kept pulling, not only would he suffer backlash, but what little awareness they had left would shatter completely.
He withdrew his hand.
The misaligned force immediately retreated from the Baihui acupoint, leaving a wave of emptiness within him. His feet slipped on a shard of ice, and his body swayed before he steadied himself.
All ten people before him had awakened.
Not regained consciousness—awakened.
One after another, they sat up from the ground, their movements stiff. Their necks cracked as they turned. No one spoke, and no one looked at the others. They simply turned toward him in perfect unison.
The air grew heavy.
Black qi poured from the chest of the first escort to awaken, then from the sword sect disciple, the apothecary owner, and the other seven. More and more black qi gathered, circling through the air until it formed a swirling storm.
The wind pressure descended, frosting the ground with a thin layer of rime.
Chen Wuya took half a step back, his heel bracing against the wreckage of the ice coffin. He knew how troublesome masters in this state were. They did not fear death or pain. Their true qi was driven entirely by an external force,