The air pressure dropped like a stone down a mineshaft.
It wasn’t gravity. It was Elder Kuang’s divine sense. A choking, invisible net of pure conscious intent that washed over Floor Eight like a wall of scalding steam.
The Golden Core sovereign was scanning for life.
Every grain of dust, every fallen shard of dark rock, every drop of blood on the floor was being probed for living tracking data. The rhythmic twitch of an artery, the heat signed name of breathing, or the faintest magnetic ripple of circulating Qi.
Anyone found alive in this room would be carried out on the spot to ensure no witnesses survived the clan’s formation sabotage.
Lin Ke lay face-down in the soot, his cheek pressed against the freezing rock.
If his heart beat once while that divine sense passed over him, he was dead.
If his six dantian vortexes leaked a single particle of Crimson Yang heat, his physical body would be boiled away into steam before he could blink.
