Nobody spoke; only the sound of footsteps and wheels echoed in the dusk.
Some turned towards the camp, their eyes filled with reluctance; some bowed their heads, staring at the road beneath their feet, afraid to look up; some bit their lips, holding back tears. But none of them stopped.
Yunxi led the ghost soldiers at the front of the procession.
His face looked calm, but there was a trace of hidden fatigue in his eyes.
His left shoulder was still wrapped in bandages, with a slight trace of blood seeping through the bandages.
His ghost sword hung from his waist, the black light on the blade much dimmer. He had consumed too much spiritual energy in that battle and had not fully recovered.
However, he didn’t complain because he felt tired.
She was the princess of Youyue Kingdom and the leader of these ghost soldiers; he can’t fall.
The ghost soldiers of Youyue Kingdom followed behind him, their armor worn and their weapons tattered, but every single one of them stood tall.
They are a race that has been hunted by the gods for thousands of years. They hid in the dark, barely surviving, thinking that this was how their lives would end.
But now, they are no longer hiding.
They stepped forward, standing in the sunlight, on the battlefield, and beside those willing to fight alongside them.
Ying Wuji led the demon cultivators from the Shadow Palace through another route and met them halfway.
His face looked gloomy. The Shadow Palace had been built for thousands of years, and now it was abandoned. He felt heartbroken.
His black robe was still stained with golden blood from the battle in the Northern Mines, and his right hand was still shaking slightly.
It was an old wound left by Lei Zhentian’s holy light, which would hurt a little on cloudy days.
But he didn’t hesitate. He knew David was right; if the gods of Sixteenth Heaven really sent people down, dividing their forces to defend would only lead to their defeat one by one.
He waved his hand, and the devil cultivators behind him quietly merged into the group.
Everyone moves in the same direction.
Casual Farmers Alliance, Cloud City.
Cloud City is a city floating in the air, shrouded in clouds and mist all year round. From land, only its outline could be vaguely seen.
The city’s foundations were forged from meteorite iron from outer space, and were covered in densely arranged runes that shimmered with a faint blue light in the clouds, like countless fireflies.
The city was not large, only a few tens of miles in circumference, but its walls were sturdy and heavily fortified, making it easy to defend and difficult to attack.
The city walls were built of black stone, which was covered with defensive runes, each rune containing the power of ancient warriors.
The city gate was made of cast iron, three feet thick, and decorated with several fist-sized spirit stones that emitted a faint light.
Feng Qingzi stood at the city gates, looking at the crowds of people pouring in from all directions, his face grim.
He still held the broken sword in his hand, the blade was covered in scratches and the cloth on the hilt was soaked with sweat.
Behind him, the Free Cultivators Alliance disciples stood in formation on the city walls, weapons in hand, their eyes filled with tension and wariness.
They had never seen so many people before. Cultivators from various races—beasts, ghosts, demons, and humans—gathered together, their armor and weapons varied, but each had the same light in their eyes: to survive.
“Elder Feng Qingzi, everyone has arrived.”
A disciple from the Loose Cultivator Alliance ran over while panting.
His face was covered in sweat, and there was a scar on his forehead from the holy light that was still bleeding.
Feng Qingzi nodded and turned around to walk into the city.
He walked quickly, but his back was slightly hunched.
The Free Farmers Alliance had survived in the cracks for thousands of years by not offending or provoking anyone.
But now, he had chosen to side and become an enemy of the Judgment Hall.
He didn’t know whether his choice was right or wrong, but he didn’t regret it.
The council meeting room was filled with people.
Lang Hao, Yun Xi, Ying Wuji, Yun Quan, Han Shuang, Jiang Xuelan, and Chu Tianxing, the old man who escaped from the sixteenth heaven, an eighth rank True God.
His silver-white hair was a little messy, and there were several unhealed wounds on his face, but his eyes were shining brightly, as bright as the stars in the night.
David stood in front of the map, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.
His brows were slightly furrowed, his gaze swept across the map, and his mind was racing.
His injuries had healed, and his reverse chaotic power had mostly returned, but he knew it was far from enough.
They received news that five cultivators of the eighth level of the True Immortal Realm had arrived from Sixteenth Heaven.
Judgment Venerable was an Eighth Rank True God, and the five cultivators of the Upper Realm God Clan were also Eighth Rank True Gods. Even though their cultivation levels were the same, the strength of Upper Realm cultivators was far superior to that of Lower Realm cultivators.
However, he was only at the peak of the ninth rank of the Upper Immortal Realm.
FAQ Novel
Q: What happened to the Sirius tribe’s campsite?
A: The campsite was completely empty, with tents dismantled and fences collapsed, showing signs of abandonment and past conflict.
Q: Why is David feeling self-blame?
A: David feels self-blame because he believes his actions led the Sirius tribe to offend the Judgment Hall, forcing them to leave their homeland and suffer losses.
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