The old man shook his head. They all said that when the sky fell, the tall ones would hold it up first—but beneath an overturned nest, how could any eggs remain whole? When the city gates caught fire, even the fish in the moat would suffer. If this realm truly fell into the hands of the Ancient Demons, then what awaited cultivators like them would absolutely be a miserable end.
Thinking of this, the old man sighed. There was no meaning in dwelling on such things now. The urgent task at hand was how to resolve the crisis before their eyes. As for what fate awaited Cloud Province, or whether this realm would be seized by the Ancient Demons, worrying too much was useless. He was merely a minor cultivator of the Foundation Establishment Realm—could he really influence the greater situation?
"Martial Uncle, why don't we rest for a while first? Many of our senior and junior brothers are almost unable to hold on." Another voice entered his ears. This time, the speaker was a young girl in the bloom of youth, seventeen or eighteen years old. Though she was no peerless beauty, she was lively and likable.
"That's right, Martial Uncle. Didn't you say the Three Yang Eight Trigrams Array was a treasure personally bestowed by the sect master, with extraordinary power? Even if it can't kill that Demonic Beast, trapping him for an hour or two shouldn't be a problem." The voice of a round-faced little fatty also entered his ears. His face was as pale as a dead man's; clearly, his magic power had already been severely overdrawn.
"This..." A look of hesitation appeared on the old man's face. He had only said that casually; in truth, he did not have the slightest confidence in his heart.