The air was thick with the suffocating stench of stale copper and ancient lime.
Far removed from the grand, ruined amphitheater where Qian Yunxi had cleaved her way through hordes of winged abominations, an endless flight of narrow, cracked stone steps climbed vertically into a suffocating, lightless void.
Each stair was carved from cold, gray bedrock, slick with condensation that dripped from unseen arches overhead.
And there, Qing Yan was climbing the staircase.
His boots struck the damp stone with an uneven, scraping rhythm, the fabric of his robes hung loose and frayed, the hem soaked in a foul, greasy liquid that was neither water nor common mud.
His breathing was rapid, shallow, and rattling deep in his throat like dry peas shaken in a tin cup.
Although he doesn't possess the bloodline of the Six Winged Divine Emperor, he was still taken to take the first test and he managed to complete it.
