"Drip." "Drip." "Drip."
As Lin Feng told his story, everyone present seemed to be drawn into that day hundreds of years ago, when the sun had never risen.
"Drip."
That was the sound of blood dripping.
That was the pervasive reek of blood.
And the stench of corpses, emerging from some unknown time and place.
Corpses that had hung from the Liang for who knew how long still dripped thick blood. The entire street lay dark and lightless.
Bodies lay strewn across the street, one after another.
Every corpse bore signs of agony.
These people had suffered terrible torment before they died.
Some corpses had rotted from poison and were already bloated beyond recognition.
Others were still "lifelike."
As though they were living people.
The only light here came from the mountain behind the town in the distance, where flames blazed, barely providing any illumination.
There could be no light anywhere else.
Where there was light, there were horrors.
"There should still be a few survivors nearby."
At the street corner, Zong Yang spoke in a low voice. Holding his Fire Lance, he cautiously peered around the corner.
But he still felt uncertain.
He had no idea what had happened. Just as his harsh measures in these troubled times had temporarily brought the place under control, someone from the Jin Family had wanted to invite him for a talk.
After he blasted them with his Fire Lance, the sky had never brightened again. Without the light from the mountain and the divine radiance of the Zuan Wangye Temple and the Land God Temple, this place would have been pitch-black.
Even torches were useless. They only brought terrible consequences.
He did not know what would happen if he used fire.
But he knew that everyone who had used it had disappeared.