An hour later, Lu Chen opened his eyes.
He had refined seventy percent of the medicinal power. The sword intent within his body had been dispersed almost entirely; only a few stubborn remnants remained, requiring time to slowly wear away.
He lowered his head and looked at his right shoulder—the wound had already scabbed over, yet a faint, barely discernible dark-green tinge showed through.
Mo Qianqiu was still keeping watch inside the tent. Seeing him awaken, he handed over a cup of hot tea. "How do you feel?"
"I won't die." Lu Chen took the tea and had a sip. "What's the situation outside?"
"At the western market, the mutiny has been suppressed. Twenty-seven people were captured, all remnants of the Third Prince and the Ten Thousand Gu Sect." Mo Qianqiu said, "Xiao Jinghong has been moved to the Hidden Dragon Guard's secret prison. Commander Chen is personally guarding him. There won't be another accident."
Lu Chen nodded.
"There's one more matter." Mo Qianqiu paused. "News came from Xu Polu—the seal at the Northern Frontier ruins has shown some abnormalities again."
Lu Chen's gaze sharpened. "What kind of abnormalities?"
"Three days ago, the mist around the ruins suddenly churned for roughly an hour. Afterwards, scouts found a corpse at the edge of the mist." Mo Qianqiu said, "It was one of the scouts who had previously gone missing. He died horribly, his entire body shriveled like dry firewood, as though something had drained him of all his blood essence. There was an exceedingly fine dark-green mark between his brows."
Lu Chen abruptly raised his head.
A dark-green mark.
Again, a dark-green mark.
"Where is the corpse?"
"It has already been burned. Marshal Xu didn't dare keep it." Mo Qianqiu said, "He asked me to ask you—how much longer can the