Kyrian remained still in the center of the chamber, the blood spear pulsing in his right hand like a living extension of his own arm.
The air in the chamber was heavy with tension. The smell of ancient stone mixed with the hostile Qi that emanated from the two intruders like a poisonous vapor.
The millennia-old dust that Kyrian had stirred when opening the coffin still floated in the air, creating a thin mist that danced under the crimson light of his eyes.
Kyrian's eyes glowed in the dimness. They were cold, strange, and intimidating. Each crimson iris seemed to contain an ocean of stagnant blood, reflecting light in a way no ordinary human eyes should.
He analyzed every detail of his opponents, the position of the young man's feet, the breathing of the older man, and the flow of Qi within their bodies.
And then, something clicked in his mind.
'White Tower.'
He remembered. Wei Feng had mentioned that name.
