'Is that the reason I am sensing a godlike presence from the painting?' Max suddenly thought, his brows knitting together as he gazed deeply at the Nine Dragons Painting.
The aura he felt—it wasn't just ancient or sacred. It was overwhelming, divine in a way that made even the gods spoken of in myths seem lesser.
When Lady Virelia mentioned that the three Supreme Masters had left behind fragments of their souls within the original painting, something clicked inside him. It wasn't ridiculous anymore, not far-fetched at all.
If those fragments were real—if even a trace of their will lingered inside that canvas—then it would explain why he alone among everyone present could feel the oppressive, majestic pressure radiating from it.