The Rose of Death, the very item that had claimed the lives of people who had already reached the peak of their cultivation, looked as resplendent as ever.
Its glittery, violet color was alluring. It invited everyone to touch it. And if one didn't know the truth, then they would have definitely fallen for it.
Michael looked down at the rose. It had now been influenced by his Nascent power. Reality had changed.
He reached down into the glass box and grasped the rose in his hand.
As soon as he did, it garnered the gasps of shock and horror from the people in the room.
After all, as Nascent Spirit cultivators themselves, they knew that Michael had not used his Nascent power to shield himself from the Rose of Death! He had used his bare hands, letting his skin get affected by the poisonous spores that rose out of bud and attached themselves to his skin.
