Dustin approached the blood altar, paying no heed to the dense aura of hatred lingering in the air. He bent down and picked up the bronze waist token, his fingers brushing over the strange, twisted emblem. His gaze was icy. “Not just one group,” he muttered. “Judging from the age of the bloodstains and the styles of these remnants, at least three separate factions have conducted blood sacrifices here over the past few decades.” He examined a relatively intact corpse. Its sternum glimmered with an abnormal dark-gold hue, covered in fine cracks. “This person was no weakling — at least Master-level cultivation. Yet death came not by ordinary means. Their life essence and soul were forcibly drained, leaving even the spiritual energy in their bones stripped away,” Dustin explained. Margaret frowned. “The sacrifices… were they trying to communicate with the Dragon? Or weaken it?” She recalled Xuan Chengzi’s words: the seal had grown weak over the years, leaking its power. Someone delibe...