The inside of the Information Plane was entirely a sea of light.
Here, space seemed to have lost its three-dimensional meaning, replaced by endless, pulsing, flickering streams of light.
Ten days flew by in a rush.
Jeming sat in the lab shaped by Alchemy, staring at the ten light screens in front of him, brows tightly furrowed.
The Black Giant Priests were moving rapidly through the sea of light within the Information Plane.
But no matter how they advanced, the surroundings were always a pure white void—no direction, no boundary, and no living thing.
"Where are those Indigenous People?"
Jeming frowned.
By rights, the earlier probing by the Wizard Legion had made quite a commotion, and they hadn't particularly tried to conceal their existence.
Even a relatively primitive civilization, faced with that kind of disturbance, ought to at least send someone over to see what was going on.
