Lin Qi carefully controlled the magic-energy flying disc, keeping it suspended in place without moving. Right in front of him were two black cracks visible to the naked eye—rifts left behind where space had been snapped apart. Beyond those two hair-thin, thousand-meter-long spatial fissures lay vast stretches of space warped like bubbling blisters.
He widened his eyes and strained to look ahead, but could only barely make out, at the edge of that distorted region, a towering mountain piercing the clouds in the distance. Other than that, Lin Qi could see nothing of value.
And the ground here—when Lin Qi saw the ground beneath him, his scalp prickled in waves.
The earth was blood-red. Tiny bubbles occasionally rose from the scarlet soil, and whenever one burst, a thick stench of blood spewed forth. Without doubt, a great battle had once erupted here—a battle that shook heaven and made ghosts weep. The blood of countless fallen warriors had dyed this land red, while strange forces filling this tiny space had kept that spilled blood fresh and intact.
Correspondingly, since even the blood remained fresh, it was only natural that the corpses on the ground had retained the state they were in at the moment of death. Right beneath Lin Qi's feet stood a small mountain of corpses. Countless handsome, beautiful Sun Elves lay piled haphazardly within it, their faces deathly pale, yet their bodies still looking as though they had only just been slain.
These Sun Elves had dazzling golden hair, and faint traces of aura still emanated from their fresh corpses—extremely powerful auras, countless times stronger than that of Prince Mian, the Sun Elf Lin Qi had once encountered. Every one of these Sun Elves should have been a powerful being who had grasped the true methods of power, yet