Martial Arena.
Just as when Li Su had entered it for the first—and only—time.
The air flowed with a suffocating stench of blood.
The sky was blood-red, the ground was blood-red, and the martial arena itself was black, blanketed in scarlet.
That blood had soaked through every stone of the arena. No one knew how many corpses had fallen upon each one—hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, or perhaps hundreds of thousands?
Resentment lingered in the air.
Vaguely, within the crimson air, faces twisted with hatred could be seen. Layer upon layer, they resembled gauze curtains, yet also towering walls, standing throughout the entire space without leaving even the slightest crack.
Even the faintest breath seemed to draw countless dead souls into one's lungs, where they would unleash curses upon one's blood and bones.
Standing where he was!
Even at the Taiyi level, Li Su still felt somewhat unwell, as though he had been wrapped in a layer of bloody slurry that was slowly seeping through his skin and drilling bit by bit into his marrow.
This was a nauseating place!
The higher one's cultivation, the more real the sensation became.
This place was bloodier than the Witch King Contest, crueler than the mixed-blood appraisal.
It was naked plunder—the Witch Clan nobility exploiting the blood and bones of those beneath them without leaving even scraps behind, feeding upon their own kin.
The traces left upon the vast martial arena were the sole proof left behind by those Witch Clan members who had been eaten.
Raising his head, Li Su looked toward the other side of the arena, about a li away, where Wu Yaori, the High Tower's senior disciple, stood.
At that moment, his face was filled with emotion as he drew a deep breath.
"It truly brings back memories—those years