He panted, staring dead at the bronze lamp in Meng Hao’s hand. The lamp caused his scalp to grow numb, and terror washed through him as a shocking question filled his mind.
“That Soul Lamp… whose is it?!?!”
The mist in the Misty Heaven Vault seethed, spreading out to fill the entire ancestral land. The Ancient Burial Grounds, the Nine Nethermountains, the Quasi-Dao Patriarch Tombs, and even the Field of Magic Enlightenment were all submerged in endless mist.
The lands almost looked like they had become a sea of mist, concealing all, casting everything into shadow. The area around Meng Hao was the only area of light, which was illuminated by the glow of the Essence of Divine Flame.
Meng Hao was panting, and his heart pounded even more strongly than Fang Dahong and Fang Linhe, or the astonished Seventh Patriarch.
Taking out the bronze Soul Lamp had been a simple experiment, and in fact, even Meng Hao had assumed the idea to be laughable and virtually impossible.
He had always thought that it was nothing more than an ancient bronze lamp…. He had never, ever thought to compare it to the Soul Lamp of an Ancient Realm cultivator.
But now, as he looked around at the churning mists, at the path that had been ripped open in front of him, and the tunnel leading toward the pitch-black temple up ahead, his heart pounded with unprecedented intensity.
“This Soul Lamp… whose is it?!?!”