The acrid smell of burning, the cold air, the sky shrouded in red.
Dead trees, their dry, twisted branches weakly stretching out as if someone had once hung from them.
At the foot of Beichuan Si was pale yellow, loosely clumped, dry cracked soil, and not far ahead lay the burnt remains of puppet-making workshops.
This space around him was devoid of anything, roughly one or two thousand square meters in size, and beyond that, nothing could be seen.
Everything around seemed to be obscured by the rolling cruel red sky.
"This vengeful spirit actually has such special abilities," Beichuan Si muttered, clutching a hammer and not hurrying into the puppet-making workshop; he surveyed the area to get a grasp of his surroundings.
In this wide world, nothing was strange.
The vengeful spirit hidden in this abandoned puppet factory had intelligence and had even created this space.
But Beichuan Si knew as well that the combat ability of this spirit couldn't be particularly strong.
