Heilam believed that the poison miasma—or rather, whatever was left of it—would protect him.
He wanted to believe that one of the Big Five sects wouldn't send their disciples into such dangerous terrain and risk their lives, as that would ruin their reputation by making them seem too heartless.
But the Purple River Sect had prepared for this. The sect's foundation was built on poison techniques anyway. On top of that, the sect was desperate. Losing a few disciples, and even elders for that matter, was no longer a big deal to them.
Their elders came equipped with poison-resistant artifacts, pills, and formation flags. They moved in groups, sealing off escape routes one by one. From the north, south, east, and west, their presence closed in.
The marshland grew quiet.
Heilam stood among twisted trees and dark fog, his breathing heavy. The poison stung his skin and burned his lungs, but it no longer felt like a shield.
