The air in the Blood Forbidden Ground was a palpable entity, thick with the metallic tang of aeons-old slaughter and the raw, untamed thrum of potent Spiritual Energy. It was a disquieting perfume, one that spoke of both immense danger and unparalleled opportunity. Wang Jian stood firm on the blood-hued soil, the perpetual crimson twilight casting eerie, elongated shadows from the skeletal, black-barked trees and jagged monoliths of dark rock.
A profound silence reigned, disturbed only by the mournful sigh of a wind that seemed to carry the dying lamentations of ancient warriors and a subtle, almost sub-audible hum of ambient power.
His first act was to access the crudely drawn map provided by the Mystic Peak Sect, his sharp eyes cross-referencing the twisted, alien landscape around him with its markings.
'The Blackwood Thorn Thicket,' he quickly identified his location. It was a region marked on the periphery of the Forbidden Ground.
