The moment the doors of the Palace of Heavenly Purity closed behind Fang Mo, every color in his field of vision changed.
Gray-gold mist filled the entire hall, so thick that even the outlines of pillars thirty feet away were indistinct. An extremely strange smell permeated the air-not a rotten stench, but a sweetness that made his head swell.
Prison Suppressor Patterns spread in all directions from beneath Fang Mo's feet as they touched the ground. Dark-gold light collided with the gray-gold mist across the floor tiles, producing faint hisses.
The patterns pushed out a hundred feet, forcing the gray-gold mist back three feet.
"Nian Nu'er, how many people ahead?"
"A little over four hundred alive, roughly. Two-thirds are kneeling. The rest are hacking at each other. Over seventy have already been killed."
Fang Mo raised his right hand, and the Netherworld Ghost Eye revolved once in the depths of his eyes.
His gaze pierced the mist.
He saw densely packed figures kneeling in the square before the Main Hall of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, their armor askew, weapons scattered across the ground, muttering incoherently.
Over a hundred people weren't kneeling, but they were hardly better off. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they swung their sabers at any moving target nearby, making no distinction between friend and foe.
Old Yan followed two paces behind Fang Mo, the Boning Knife already in his hand.
"Boss, can these people still be saved?"
"Save what? Their minds have been scrubbed clean. The Spiritual Terrace Burial Cosmos Consciousness Law isn't ordinary mind control. It directly formatted their sense of self. Even if I dispelled the law now, they'd wake up as idiots."
Old Yan fell silent.
Fang Mo took a step forward.
The reach of the Prison Suppressor Patterns beneath his feet expanded