Yu Lian followed his gaze and saw that wisp of smoke still drifting beneath the dark red canopy of the sky, twisted into dozens of hideous, terrifying specters. They writhed together in unending combat, forming a bizarre and cruel tableau against the sky.
This strange phenomenon seemed to be the very essence of this world taking shape.
Yu Lian lowered his head again and looked at the broken corpses. They really were the Emperor's bodies from his youth, now turning blood-red and merging into the gray wasteland.
They were indeed physical, but were rotting and decomposing a hundred or even a thousand times faster than normal.
"This place has all the functions of a Domain of Conflict, but it's clearly more than just an extension of psychic power and the mind." Yu Lian looked at his hands, keenly aware of the texture of his own body. His extrasensory perception passed through his cells, grasping the reality of this world.
He was certain that his body at this moment was no illusion. If he couldn't even be sure of that, then he, a demigod, wouldn't deserve to sit at the same table as the Saints.
Of course, perhaps it was something between the solidity of the material world and the spiritualization of the Empyrean Realm.
"Is this more like a result of a psychic's interference with the Empyrean Realm?"
Lan Jiufeng nodded approvingly, then gestured toward the seemingly boundless wasteland, studded with sword-shaped tombstones. His voice was calm and even. "This place is neither virtual nor real. It is a prison formed where the Domain of Conflict intertwines with a broken dimension. Much like how I stabilized floating islands in the Empyrean Realm and built my own sanctuary."
Yu Lian thought, Is that really a sanctuary? It's obviously a vacation home.