In the pitch-black, damp space, dim light was provided only by the magma covering the ground and some glowing spiritual creatures growing on the stone walls.

In this dim space, dragon puppets swam continuously, repeating the same motions, devoid of any vitality, filled with the scent of decay and mold.

At the very bottom of this space, on a giant rock full of magma and flames, a man coughed lightly twice.

The surface of the rock was incredibly flat, covered with densely packed formation arts, emitting a scarlet glow. The man, with disheveled hair and clothes full of holes, had a pair of crimson dragon horns on his head. He muttered continuously, as if chanting a spell or simply talking to himself.