When Xiao Fan truly stepped onto the edge of the Central Plains, the scent in the wind changed.
It was no longer the scorching, dry, sandy stench of Tagor, nor the chaotic mélange of blood, medicine, rust, and greed from the Black-Corner Region.
The wind of the Central Plains was heavier.
Heavy as if countless eyes were hidden within every inch of air.
The Snake-People Tribe's first migration party had already arrived at Cold Sand Fortress under Die's leadership, while the second batch was steadily setting out from Tagor's borders. The Miteer Caravan concealed their route under the pretext of transporting medicinal herbs, furs, and evacuees from the war, while Hai Bodong's former Ice Alliance subordinates received them in the shadows.
On the surface, this was merely a caravan withdrawing from the turmoil of the northwest.
But anyone with a keen enough nose knew that behind this convoy stood a Dou Zun, a Danta soul guest, a Woe Poison Body, an Ancient Void Dragon, and Xiao Fan—the man who had publicly slain a Heaven Demon Phoenix in Tagor and devoured a Nihility Sub-Flame.
The Central Plains had never lacked experts.
Nor had it ever lacked people who watched experts bleed.
What Xiao Fan did not know was that before they had even truly settled down, someone in the depths of darkness had already placed his name upon the chessboard.
Soul Realm.
There was neither sun nor moon here.
There was only black mist as dense as the deep sea, and black palaces that seemed to be built from the bones of dead souls.
Within the great hall at the very depths, the darkness was so still it seemed almost frozen.
Upon the high seat sat a figure.
No one needed to see his face clearly, and no one dared