Coming out of Ye Jinghong's Central Army Tent, the atmosphere outside had completely changed.
The oppressive feeling, like a death row inmate awaiting execution, had vanished. In its place was a near-fanatical excitement.
The pale golden glow of the Divine Realm enveloped the entire outpost. It lent this steel fortress, situated in the deadlands of the Otherworld, an air of sacred inviolability.
The patrolling soldiers held their heads high, chests puffed out. They gazed at the central high platform with the kind of reverence reserved for a once-in-a-generation ancestral blessing.
Han Feng pulled his combat uniform tighter and strode quickly across the square.
To him, this fanaticism was both a shield and a death sentence.
Ye Jinghong's words about "rejection by the world's rules" and "certain death within a year" stuck in his mind like a thorn.
'This Dragon Abyss place is even more treacherous than I thought.'
