She drew a deep breath.
She slowly descended the stone steps (if those few uneven stones could even be called steps) and looked around.
There was not a single intact skeleton here. Every bone was shattered, as though it had been blasted by immense force.
Nor were there any heavy fragments of armor—perhaps they had long since rusted away and melted into the dust.
Only some bone stubs resembling withered branches remained, along with a few finger bones still tightly gripping weapons that had already rotted away.
Most of those weapons had been reduced to fragments, but their shapes still faintly revealed sabers, swords, spears, halberds... There were even fragments of some strange, unorthodox weapons.
In Ye Honglian's eyes, these cultivators had never released the swords and blades in their hands, even unto death. They had fallen only after fighting until the very last moment.
After all her years of cultivation, Ye Honglian could say she had seen plenty of dead people. The number of souls that had died beneath her sword was no small one either.
Yet the scene before her still filled her with a chill that rose from the depths of her heart.
She could not help imagining the brutal scene of corpses piled like mountains and blood flowing like seas here in those days—
Tens of thousands of cultivators had slaughtered one another here. Blood had dyed every inch of earth red, while roars and screams had filled the air without end. In the end, everyone had fallen, and no one had survived.
What, exactly, had happened here over the past thousand years?
What kind of place was this tower?
At that thought, she could not help crouching down and reaching into the thick dust, trying to search for clues from those days, for any relic