The veiled woman's breath caught in her throat as she watched Damon endure what should have annihilated even the most gifted of poison cultivators.
Every drop from the sacred orb wasn't just ordinary venom, it was divine essence crafted from a million poisons, a concentrated inheritance meant to test, torment, and ultimately transform the next chosen successor.
Yet this man, this blood drinker, whose path was drenched in blood but not toxin, was absorbing it like water into desert soil.
The veiled woman took a step back, her fingers trembling. "This shouldn't be possible," she whispered. Another drop. Damon jerked, snarled, then stilled, his aura stabilizing even faster than before.
Soon, about half of the sacred orb was used up. Then, silently, another few hours passed by when another quarter of the sacred orb was used up.
