In the third year of the divine calendar, winter.
North of Daxia, forbidden place No. 003.
It snowed for three whole days, turning this land abandoned by God into a pale color. Above the ruins, the broken walls were covered with snow, like silent corpses. The smell of blood filled the air, so strong it felt like it could be cut with a knife.
Lin Qiye leaned against a half-collapsed wall, pressing his right hand against the wound on his abdomen. Blood seeped out from between his fingers, spreading into dark red flowers on the snow. He held a knife in his left hand - the blade was pitch black, the blade was curled, and it was covered with a mixture of gold and red liquid.
The golden one is divine blood.
The red one is his own.
"Thirty-seven."
He counted in a low voice, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper. In front of them lay the corpses of five gods' spokespersons. Their faces had expressions of disbelief, as if they could not believe until their death that a mortal could kill them who were blessed by the gods.
The piercing sound of electricity came from the communicator, followed by An Qingyu's anxious voice: "Lin Qiye! Are you still alive? Report your location!"
