Logan stepped toward the altar, unbothered by the waves of resentment swirling around it. He crouched down, picked up the bronze waist plate, and ran his fingertips over the twisted symbol carved into its surface. His eyes were cold and sharp.
“More than one group,” he murmured. “Judging by the age of the bloodstains and the decomposition of the remains, at least three separate factions have conducted blood sacrifices here—spanning several decades.”
He walked to a nearby corpse, one that was relatively intact. Examining its bones, he noticed something unnatural—the sternum glowed faintly with a dark golden hue, its surface riddled with hairline cracks.
“This man was powerful,” Logan said quietly. “At least Grandmaster level when alive. But his death… wasn’t natural. His blood, essence, and soul were forcibly drained. Even the spiritual imprint within his bones has been stripped away.”
Grace frowned, her thoughts flashing back to Cassius’s earlier warning—that the Ruin Dragon’s seal had been decaying, leaking its power over time.
“Was this blood sacrifice meant to communicate with the Ruin Dragon?” she asked, her voice tight. “Or to weaken the seal?”
“It’s possible,” Logan replied, rising slowly. His gaze swept across the altar until it settled on the stone trough at its center—a shallow depression, smooth and dark, as though worn down by countless offerings.
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