Looking at the blood-red crystal within arm's reach.
Although Ruibote's power had been completely sealed away, and he could barely even control his own body, like a vegetative patient.
As a high-level cultivator, he could still see quite clearly that strands of resentment—or perhaps wronged souls—were endlessly swirling within it.
It was like a demonic nest, condensed from the suffering of countless living beings.
This kind of technique was, without question, some sort of evil art.
Moreover, it was the kind of evil art that would normally be subject to all-out suppression and pursuit. Every cultivator who practiced it would be hunted with full force by righteous factions.
In an instant.
He felt that Ling Wuyuan's origins—or rather, his background—were somewhat questionable. He did not seem to be from the Snow Moon Cloud Heaven Pavilion.
"Could it be that this guy lied about his origins?"
"After all, according to intelligence, the Snow Moon Cloud Heaven Pavilion should be a righteous faction or a neutral faction... How could one of its members use such an evil art? And judging by his proficiency, this was definitely not something he had used only once or twice. He was clearly an old hand at this..."
At the very least.
At this moment.
That was what Ruibote believed.
In his eyes, Ling Wuyuan's mastery of the technique could only have been achieved through at least hundreds or thousands of practical attempts.
At the same time.
Although earlier.
Ruibote had known that death was certain.
And had been wholly unwilling to beg pitifully before dying.
But...
Watching that blood-red crystal refined through evil arts grow ever stronger, sensing the resentment and departed souls of his own kind within it becoming more numerous, Ruibote, amidst his profound sorrow, began to question his earlier resolve. It was a