Stalactites hung from the ceiling like ancient fangs, and in the center, atop a jagged platform of obsidian-black stone, sat something even more incredible:
A sealed stone tablet, surrounded by intricate formations—runes that glowed faintly with fire and time-worn power. The air around it shimmered, like heat mirages, and the temperature in the room was several degrees warmer.
Han Yu's instincts screamed at him.
This was important.
This was ancient.
He made his way to the obsidian platform and knelt before the tablet, inspecting it closely. The characters etched into its surface weren't anything he could recognize—not standard cultivator script, not demonic, not Dao Script, and certainly not anything he'd read in the Twin Leaf Peak library during his time there before the mission.
But as he placed a hand on it—just lightly—the script shifted, as if responding to his touch.
He regretted it immediately.
