Jared chose the deepest niche in the gorge, a natural stone chamber hiding behind a slit no wider than his shoulders.
Veins of pale mineral curled along the walls, muffling spiritual probes like purpose-made seals.
"Senior, stand guard here. No one interrupts me..."
He pitched the request to the towering Vermilion Demon Lord who stalked in alter him. He would not let word of the Pentacarna Tower slip, greed moved faster than gossip.
A relic that bent time itself, any cultivator would covet that more than blood or treasure.
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