Chapter 6080

The chime of the bell did not fade.

It burrowed.

Each clear ding slipped into marrow and soul alike, dragging invisible hooks behind it.

The freed cultivators—moments ago dazed and trembling—now moved like rabid hounds. Veins blackened beneath their skin. Red mist leaked from their mouths as they hurled themselves at Luther without hesitation.

They did not defend.

They did not think.

They only attacked.