This must be a dungeon; those walls are forged of fine steel, not something that can be cut by ordinary energies.
I heard the scattered squeak of rats and smelled the scent of dead ones.
But my stomach was truly hungry; after fighting for so long without food, only I knew the feeling.
Ye Chen was locked up in a dungeon, in a solitary cell with only a small window as large as a face, and the faint moonlight came through.
It was a row of dungeons, with fires burning in the corridors, and sounds of people howling in madness—yet no one paid any attention.
Ye Chen thought of releasing the Red Demonic Spirit, only to realize that this wasn't just an iron dungeon. It was sealed by an energy that prevented free access; the energy acted like a lid, enclosing everything around it.
The death of Can Mo deeply saddened Ye Chen; why couldn't I have come earlier? Perhaps then he wouldn't have died—but there were no what-ifs.