"There were only nine Seven-colored Tokens. Then why did ninety-nine bolts of lightning descend from the sky?" Qin Shaofeng asked in astonishment.
This world had stirred far too much curiosity in him.
Unfortunately, it seemed no one would be able to explain his question anytime soon.
Just as he opened his mouth to ask,
the old man's voice rang out again.
Yet it was not to explain anything to him.
"Prepare yourselves. After you obtain the Seven-colored Token, this old man will use the last of his remaining strength to send you down the mountain. At that time, the two ghost corpses I have suppressed will gradually awaken. You must leave within three hours."
As the old man spoke, Qin Shaofeng felt as though his body had frozen solid where he stood.
No matter how he struggled, he could not even make his heart beat or draw a breath.
A phantom slowly emerged from the old man's body, quietly hovering above his corpse.
Vaguely, it seemed to make some sort of gesture.
The moment the Seven-colored Token appeared again, it was abruptly drawn over.
The instant it was caught, the phantom fiercely slapped it, branding it onto Qin Shaofeng's brow.
An intense pain suddenly erupted.
Yet in that fleeting instant, he felt the Seven-colored Token transform into seven entirely different auras and merge into his brow.
"Go!"
A piercing cry rang out.
He could clearly hear that the old man seemed to have truly used every last bit of power in his body.
As a terrifying force erupted,
his entire body was enveloped by that dreadful power and hurled out of the great hall.
After tumbling once, he appeared high in the air outside the mountain, then began plunging downward.
He wanted to control his body, yet he still could