Chapter 5503 Too Late
- A chorus of grateful voices echoed across the Soul Convergence Altar. Cultivators surged toward the gold-robed cultivator, bowing and scraping as if salvation itself wore his embroidered sleeves. None of them sensed the invisible pit yawning beneath their feet, a pit dug with missing fragments of their own souls.
- The Edison lifted one modest hand, pretending humility. Yet a needle-thin gleam of cruelty flickered behind his lashes.
- Their spiritual flow will sour soon enough. When their strength withers and their minds go dull, they will feed my Soul Urn to the brim.