Along the eastern border of the Great Flame Dynasty, the once impregnable line of defense had been battered full of holes. Ying Zheng's mobile palace floated directly above the ruins of a gigantic war fortress that had been razed to the ground. Light court music drifted in every direction, while within the layered halls and pavilions, breathtaking young women—offered up by the Blood Qin Empire, abducted from the Eastern Subcontinent, dedicated by the Heavenly Temple, or seized from nomadic tribes—danced gracefully in magnificent robes of every hue.
In the largest hall of the mobile palace, Ying Zheng sat alone cross-legged upon his throne. One hand gripped a roasted lamb leg, the other a flagon of fine wine, as he watched coldly while three hundred and sixty palace maids in lotus-colored gowns performed the Lingbo dance. Other than Ying Zheng and those palace maids, no one else was in the great hall. Even the musicians providing the accompaniment hid in a side hall next door as they played their instruments.
Suddenly, specks of spiritual light appeared out of nowhere before Ying Zheng, and a tyrannical will slammed into his soul. Cold sweat instantly seeped from every pore as Ying Zheng muttered under his breath, "So he has already become this powerful? He's no longer human!"
Feeling that terrifying pressure upon the level of his soul, as though the heavens themselves had collapsed and crushed his soul so thoroughly that it did not dare move, Ying Zheng's body trembled violently several times. Then he drew a deep breath, snatched up the spatial positioning crystals, and barked an order.
All the palace maids filed out of the hall in orderly lines. Several hundred gaunt men clad in tight black garments, their bodies exuding a dark aura, strode swiftly into the hall. Ying Zheng