The black dark rock of the Ancient Stele was colder than deep-space void-ice.
For three thousand years, the most powerful Domain Saints of the Jiuzhou Continent had approached this stone with trembling respect, offering incense, sky prayers, and spirit herbs in hopes of communing with the divine mind of the First Sages.
Frank approached it like a site building boss inspecting a misaligned property line pin.
He stopped three inches from the glassy, mirror-polished surface of the monolith, his yellow safety glasses perched on his nose, his stubby red carpenter’s pencil held between his teeth.
Patriarch Luo Yuan floated five paces behind him, his void-robes rippling with cold excitement.
“Go on, carpenter,” Patriarch Luo sneered. “Channel your mind into the First Epoch glyphs! Let’s see if your mortal brain can survive even three seconds of ancient divine payback!”
Frank took the pencil from his mouth, adjusted his glasses. Then he looked over his shoulder with tired irritation.
“Why would I channel my mind into a piece of rock?” Frank asked. “You don’t meditate on a survey stake, you read the height number. What’s wrong with you people?”
