The bruised, stagnant sky above the endless boneyard seemed to lower itself further, pressing against the shattered earth like a swollen, purplish bruise.
The colossal, hundred-meter blade of ancient celestial iron had receded into the haze behind them, its silver-etched Clear Universe Imperial Writing still pulsing with a faint, steady heartbeat that resonated within the marrow of Qian Yunxi's bones.
Every footstep she took across the field of slaughter produced a wet, brittle crunch.
Beneath her white leather boots lay centuries of pulverized ribcages, sundered iron shields, and the calcified vertebrae of war beasts that had died before modern dynasties were ever conceived.
Beside her, Qing Yan walked with measured caution, his fingers constantly brushing the cold scabbard at his hip.
His azure robes were stained with dried black mire, and his sharp, vigilant gaze darted between the mountains of skeletal remains flanking their path.
