The flutter of those eyelashes was incredibly slight, as gentle as a breeze brushing across a lake.
But none of those standing here were weak. Punishers at the fifth-level Core Consolidation or above were already considered to have crossed the threshold into being mid-tier Punishers.
Their sensory abilities were sharp enough to detect such minute movements.
Song Zhiyi's hand tightened around his shield, Zhou Yan's arms took on a stony, grayish-white luster, and the breathing of the other squad members hitched simultaneously.
The tip of Qiu Shubai's sword rose slightly, the light of Bloodfall contained but not yet released—a sign that she was channeling blood energy into the blade.
Only Luo Yang remained still.
His mental power had been enveloped around the girl from the start; every movement she made was under his observation.
He sensed it sooner than anyone else: this was not a precursor to an attack, not an accumulation of energy, nor any form of combat preparation.
It was an awakening.
A pure awakening, as if rising from a long slumber.
The girl's eyes slowly opened.
They were as black as an eternal night, with no apparent distinction between pupil and iris; the entire eyeballs were a deep, profound black.
Yet, in the deepest depths of that blackness, a speck of faint light rotated slowly, like a distant white dwarf star on the verge of extinguishing in the far reaches of the universe.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping from Song Zhiyi to Zhou Yan, from Zhou Yan to Qiu Shubai, and finally landing on Luo Yang, where it stopped.
Then, she stood up.
Her movements were stiff, as if she hadn't used this body in a very long time.
The pleats of her black Lolita dress smoothed out with her movements, and beneath the hem, a pair of ankles so slender they were almost transparent were revealed.
She was barefoot, stepping onto the cold stone floor without making a sound.
“You...”
Her voice was very soft, possessing a unique texture, like someone who hadn't spoken in ages relearning how to vocalize.
“...are human.”
There was no doubt in her tone; it wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
She took a step forward, and the Blade squad's formation instantly tightened. Song Zhiyi held his shield before him, and the blade at his waist was drawn three inches from its sheath.
But the girl seemed completely oblivious to the weapons pointed at her. Her pace was steady and her steps light as she continued forward.
She walked gracefully up to Luo Yang and looked up.
She only reached Luo Yang's chest, requiring her to stand slightly on her tiptoes to meet his gaze. There was no hostility or wariness in those pitch-black eyes, only a child-like curiosity.
“Hmm... You are different,” she said. “The smell on you... is different.”
Luo Yang looked down at her, neither retreating nor drawing his blade.
“What smell?”
“The smell of ashes.”
The girl's nostrils flared slightly. “It is the smell of many things having burned. They have left their marks on you.”
“I like this smell.”
She reached out her hand, as if wanting to touch Luo Yang's sleeve.
Qiu Shubai's sword tip shifted slightly at that moment, but Luo Yang stopped her with a glance.
The girl's fingertips touched Luo Yang's wrist, feeling as cold as water just drawn from a well.
She felt the skin for a moment, then withdrew her hand and took a step back, as if she had completed some form of confirmation.
“My name is Yan Zhi. Or, you can call me A-Zhi,” she suddenly said. “I had to think for a while to remember it. I shouldn't have remembered it wrong.”
Her Shenzhou was not very fluent; there were tiny pauses between each word, as if she were digging them out bit by bit from the depths of her memory.
Song Zhiyi finally spoke.
“What is this place?”
Yan Zhi turned her head to look at him, his reflection appearing in her black eyes.
“This place? It is the Throne Room.”
She continued, “This place belongs to a dynasty that no longer has any people. Their name... I do not remember. I only remember that they once lived on this land, back before this Rift appeared. Later, they died. Everyone, they died together.”
Her tone was flat, as if she were telling an ancient story that had nothing to do with her.
“And you?” Luo Yang asked.
A-Zhi's gaze fell back on him.
“Me?” She thought for a moment. “I am the Gravekeeper. But I was not chosen by them; I came here myself. Because I had nowhere else to go.”
She paused, then added a sentence that made everyone's breath hitch.
“After all, I have been dead for a long time.”
Song Zhiyi's hand on his hilt tightened abruptly, Zhou Yan's Adam's apple bobbed once, and the aura of the entire Blade squad began to surge in an instant.
Qiu Shubai stared into A-Zhi's pitch-black eyes, seemingly trying to judge the truth of her words.
Luo Yang's brow furrowed slightly.
His mental power would not lie to him; there truly was no aura of life on this girl. No body heat, no heartbeat, not even any blood energy circulation.
If Luo Yang had to describe her, the being before him was like a piece of humanoid stone that could move and speak.
And it was an even more bizarre case than the Monkey King.
However, the information contained within the phrase “already dead” was clearly not something that could be cleared up with just a question or two.
He was about to press for more details when the entire hall suddenly shook.
It wasn't the kind of tremor that came from beneath one's feet like an earthquake, but rather a pressure coming from above, as if something incredibly heavy had landed directly on top of the hall.
Then, the already somewhat dilapidated dome began to shatter.
Starting from the center, countless cracks spread in all directions like a spiderweb.
The stonework, covered in ancient patterns, groaned under the pressure of some terrifying force.
A-Zhi looked up, the widening cracks reflected in her black eyes.
“It is here,” she said, her tone still flat.
In the next instant, the dome completely exploded.
Countless fragments of stone rained down, creating a dense series of thuds as they hit the floor. Dust swept through the hall like a tsunami, obscuring everyone's vision.
When the dust settled, it was already standing there.
The throne had been smashed, replaced by a massive creature.
Its main body resembled a giant lion, over three meters tall at the shoulder, covered entirely in dark gold scales. The edges of each scale glowed with an orange-red light like molten lava.
Its four thick legs did not end in paws, but in four bony, three-toed structures. Each toe was like a curved scythe, deeply embedded into the shattered stone slabs.
But the most bone-chilling part was its head.
It was not the head of a lion, but a face that closely resembled a human woman.
Her features were refined to an eerie degree. Beneath her tightly closed eyes, two dark red markings extended down to her jaw, like two tear stains that would never dry.
Two large bulges rose from its back, the scales on their surface constantly cracking and healing; something could be seen wriggling faintly inside.
“It's a mutant beast! Energy level at least Level 4—no, at least Level 4 peak!”
A member of the Blade squad gripped his instrument tightly, reporting a number that made even Song Zhiyi feel the danger.
The mutant beast slowly opened its eyes.
They were golden eyes, filled with a complex gaze of anger, sorrow, loneliness, and even malice. They swept over everyone present before finally locking onto Yan Zhi.
It opened its mouth, revealing neat rows of human-like teeth, and let out a screech. The sound was as sharp as nails scraping across a glass pane, piercing deep into everyone's eardrums.
Yan Zhi remained where she was, neither dodging nor turning around.
She simply raised her hand, pointed at herself, then pointed at the giant beast stretching its body behind her.
“It,” she said, “is likely here for me.”
Golden flames flared up, dancing within the mutant beast's eye sockets and reflecting in her pitch-black eyes like two stars falling into an eternal night.
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