Malcolm dropped to one knee. Icy sweat streamed down his brow.
He had kept the Door for years, yet he had never truly met the master behind it, until now.
It was only a concept, a symbol of the Laws of Reincarnation... Or, so I thought...
Morven, nearly sixty millennia old and undefeated by even High Immortal Realm Level Four cultivators, stood rigid. Confronted by those eyes, even defiance refused to form.
This was oppression at the level of existence itself. No thought of resistance could survive beneath it.
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