Heavenly thunder rolled. As alarm bells rang through Qin An's Divine Soul, the bolts seemed to find their target and surged toward him in a frenzy.
The thunder descended from the sky with a terrifying aura and enveloped his Divine Soul in the blink of an eye.
Unimaginable pain swept through him. Qin An had never felt agony so intense.
It was not pain of the flesh. It struck the depths of his Divine Soul directly, a hundred, a thousand, even ten thousand times worse.
His Divine Soul felt like a small boat on the ocean, battered by agony and liable to capsize at any moment.
Even so, Qin An did not immediately withdraw the pull of his Divine Soul.
This was the only way. The instant his Divine Soul entered the heavenly thunder, he sensed that the damage it suffered was limited, while the power of his body and mind had been annihilated as soon as it poured in.
The thunder's power brought him boundless pain, but it had not erased his Divine Soul.
Qin An realized he might have made the right gamble. There seemed to be a glimmer of hope.
As the thunder's power continued to pour in, bits of something black peeled away from Qin An's Divine Soul at a visible rate.
He sensed it for a moment and understood what it was.
Impurities.
A person's Divine Soul was cleanest at birth, but as time passed, it gradually absorbed the aura of the world. Every trace left an impurity behind.
Ordinary people had many impurities, and Cultivators had fewer, but fewer did not mean none.
So when the impurities appeared, Qin An knew the heavenly thunder was washing the filth from his soul.
Yet although the process caused no actual injury, it was excruciating.
Qin An