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The eerie sight sent a chill down Wei Yuan’s spine.
When had tens of thousands of Shamans entered his Dao Foundation, and how? He had no idea they were here until after the fact.
Wei Yuan reached out to grab one of the Shamans, but his hand grasped only thin air. As it turned out, the Shamans had no physical form. They were utterly insubstantial even within his sea of consciousness, as if they didn’t exist at all.
Yet Wei Yuan knew they weren’t truly non-existent. Each and every Shaman possessed a unique quality—differing in every way, yet sharing the same essence. It resembled a soul, yet was not a soul. It wasn’t fortune either.
Wei Yuan couldn’t quite articulate what this thing actually was, but its presence was what gave each and every phantom a reason to exist in this world. Even if they couldn’t be touched, there was no denying that they existed.
At the moment, countless Shamans were marching toward the jade hill and vanishing one by one into its depths.
In Wei Yuan’s eyes, a space had mysteriously appeared within the jade hill, and a drop of black water had formed at its base. As the Shamans vanished one by one, the drop of black water slowly grew larger.
Wei Yuan shuddered instinctively as he stared intently at the black droplet. He dared not think about its origin at all.
Wei Yuan opened his eyes and emerged from his meditation. Daylight was already beginning to filter through the window. He pushed open the door, stepped outside, and soared into the air, gazing...
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