Chapter 915: Drawing Lots

It was a sea of pitch black, endless to the eye, fathomless, dead silent, and cold. If you looked closely, a faint golden glimmer flickered off in a corner of the darkness. It was a person-a man, all blood and exposed bone. His blood shone gold, bright as hammered sunlight, pricking the blackness with scattered stars. That man, needless to say, was Frank Yale. Since stepping into the Wuwang Great Marsh and being swallowed by the raging, monstrous waves, he had vanished. He had drifted in that...