Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
Burial Sword Mound was still the same Burial Sword Mound.
The deathly silence and desolation unique to the Land of Buried Bones shrouded the entire Burial Sword Mound.
Even the golden radiance of dusk could not warm this barren land.
Instead, in this final moment before nightfall, like the last wild blossoming of light before darkness, it appeared all the more mournful and tragic.
At the entrance to Burial Sword Mound stood a towering archway of green pillars. On either side of it, wind chimes beneath upturned eaves tinkled crisply in the evening breeze, while the ethereal sound of Buddhist bells gently echoed amid the sunset's lingering glow.
Upon the vermilion plaque between the eaves were several characters that flowed like dragons—"Burial Sword Mound."
Beneath the vermilion plaque stood a figure in black robes.
In the hand faintly visible beneath those robes, he carried a wine flask.
The black-robed figure raised his head, his two empty eye sockets fixed upon those words.
The afterglow behind him spread across the ground, all the way down the tens of thousands of steps. At a glance, it looked like a warm yellow cloak draped over him.
The lingering light even dyed his silent, oppressive black robes with warmth.
"Burial Sword Mound," he murmured, his voice carrying a solitude it had never possessed before.
"By my count, it has been a hundred thousand years."
Standing beside the green pillars were the Piao Family's tomb guardians, generation after generation. Looking at the black-robed man who had suddenly appeared before them, along with the dog, soul, bear, and centipede behind him, they had not yet had time to react before the black-robed man strode past.
Each step carried him several zhang, and with a light tap, he