Two months later, the land had changed.
So had Riley.
Standing atop a jagged ridge overlooking the desolate plains, Riley remained completely still, as though carved from ancient stone.
Yet beneath that unmoving exterior, his senses were in constant motion, spreading outward in all directions like an invisible tide.
The movements of the savage army were laid bare before him—every march, every halt, every faint shift in their formation.
What he possessed could not truly be called divine sense.
At least, not the kind cultivators boasted of.
Those cultivators relied on spiritual energy, on dantians and spirit roots refined through countless years of meditation.
Their awareness was born from the heavens. Riley's, however, was born from something far older.
Instinct.
Within a radius of one hundred thousand miles, the world existed vividly inside his mind.
