Qin He had intended to wait a while, but at that moment, a faintly cold sense of danger suddenly coiled around his heart.
It was not the bone-piercing chill of a blade pressed to his skin, nor the violent savagery of Killing Intent invading his body.
It was a chill buried in the deepest depths of his soul, slowly breeding there.
As though an invisible net had crossed countless miles of empty space and slowly clasped shut around the aura surrounding him.
Qin He's divine sense instantly spread outward.
The divine sense of the Saint Realm did not surge like the tide of light wielded by low-level cultivators, sweeping across heaven and earth.
His divine sense was as faint as thin mist, silently blanketing the gray, murky sky overhead and flowing over the rolling ink-black Black Sea beneath his feet. Even the filthy waves churning across its surface and the ancient sinister beasts lurking within cracks in the reefs were all encompassed within it.
Yet he found nothing.
The clouds in the sky hung still. There was neither wind nor thunder, and even the drifting spiritual energy of heaven and earth remained steady as usual.
The undercurrents of the Black Sea lay dormant. The thousand-year-old corpses beneath the water and the lurking demonic creatures were all quiet. There was not a trace of unfamiliar aura spying upon him, nor any hidden cultivator lying in wait.
Everything around him was far too peaceful.
Yet this feeling of danger was truly lodged in his soul.
It was sharper and closer than when he had previously encountered the Divine Court's patrolling Saints.
Qin He's fingertips at his side curled slightly, and the edges of his robe stirred despite the absence of wind.
After becoming a Saint and shedding the shackles of ordinary cultivators