An intolerable slickness, a sickening sensation. Poisonous. Disgusting. Stop.
Warning after warning surfaced in Lin Feng's mind, but he suppressed the urge to let go.
He gouged out the eyeball and held it in his hand.
The Historian's Eye was like a gemstone. Compared with Lin Feng's sacrificial fire, those flames were far too immature. Lin Feng did not know who the Root Teacher of Lazhang Ancient Temple was, or what the identity of the Historian beaten to death by the "Mother of Heaven" was.
But without a doubt, they had once ranked among the most powerful members of the human species.
Held up to the sunlight, the eyeball reflected a stretch of darkness, like a deep lake.
The dregs of history turned out to be an eye.
"You actually caught me."
The Indian Monk had not died. He said quietly, "It's no use. You alone cannot reverse the decline of the Historians. This is a history watched by countless eyes."
"I bear you no particular ill will, but things will be different when the others arrive.
"They are far more savage, and this eye of yours is precious.
"If word gets out, there will be no shortage of people who want it."
The Indian Monk spoke unhurriedly. Freed from the constraints of a "human form," he had become cold, filled with an unsettling rationality.
Like a monster no one could like.
Lin Feng did not answer him.
He set the eye beside him.
The Historian's power did indeed lie in the Historian's Eye. But now, inside this eye, Lin Feng saw a threadlike wisp of black energy. It was the source of all that darkness.
Like a parasite, that black thread had lodged inside the Historian's Eye.
This was the Indian Monk.
These were the dregs of history.
After