Although Li Su did not dislike cultivation—in fact, he felt quite pressed for time—cultivation required at least some peace of mind, didn't it?
This Great Sacrificial Martial Arena was utterly bizarre. Just its appearance alone made him increasingly uncomfortable the longer he stayed. Especially the blood slurry beneath him, which nearly covered the entire bronze platform spanning a thousand miles in every direction—it seemed as though an inextinguishable stench of blood lingered constantly in his heart.
Perhaps because this was a spiritual world, the Great Sacrificial Martial Arena was very fresh, as if a bloody battle had taken place here not long ago. Some of the blood was still fresh, not yet blackened and dried by the wind.
The world was dark and gloomy.
There was clearly light, yet it felt as though it could not shine in.
There was no wind, yet he somehow felt cold. Beneath that thick mire of blood, it seemed countless corpses lay sleeping, radiating bone-deep resentment and malice.
Was it an illusion?
He did not know!
But Li Su could be certain that if his soul had not been special enough, incomparably tough, he likely would have been unable to endure it long ago.
In fact, over these nearly four months, his soul had improved and strengthened almost every day, yet that strange feeling had not faded for even a single second.
A sense that something was going to happen kept needling at him.
It was like watching a horror film: the ghost never appeared, yet abnormalities kept cropping up around him without end.
For those reasons, no matter how much Li Su loved cultivation, he could not bear it.
Yet that immortal from the Divine Fire Palace simply would not leave. He had stood where the Yang God cultivator vanished for four whole