Chapter 215

The sky was as gloomy as an iron sheet. The ink-like clouds were so heavy they felt within reach, with vortices entrenched ten thousand feet above, slowly churning. The wind was dead and stagnant; even the dust fell heavily. The air was filled with a suffocating, scorched smell of red-hot metal, foreboding the terrifying end gestating within. The few remaining giant rocks on the peak of the solitary mountain had been polished by millennia of howling gales into ferocious, jagged shapes. A few dead, iron-black pine roots lingered in the rock crevices, the only things here capable of proving the passage of time. Lin Moyu sat cross-legged on a piece of dark jade-marrow stone platform in the very center of the peak. His robes had long since turned into dark, charred shreds, barely hanging from bones tempered through a thousand trials.