The calling was distant, faint, almost imperceptible, yet undeniably real—it was no illusion.
Shi Hao stood there, his body and soul trembling, longing to move closer. But if he truly stepped onto the altar, what would he accomplish?
The cauldron could not come through; it could not truly manifest.
Moreover, the altar was damaged—far too ancient, and after the great battle of bygone days, half of it was destroyed. It could no longer transport living beings or artifacts.
"Buzz!"
The altar glowed, its characters ancient and indecipherable, exuding unfathomable mystery. Could they belong to the Immortal Dao Patterns?
"Boom!"
Suddenly, the hazy three-legged cauldron trembled violently, piercing through spacetime and rules, attempting to manifest itself atop the altar.
"Desolate…"
A soft voice whispered, its latter words abruptly cut off, unable to be heard.
