The Arrival

He had no choice but to step forward.

He looked at the magic treasure standing over ten feet tall before him.

The banner seemed forged from iron. A half-bodied skeletal fiend crouched upon it, its protruding fangs clenched around the banner cloth while two bony claws tore open the secondary banner. Though it was clearly not staring at him, he felt a chilling cold seep into his bones.

He then looked around the soul banner.

Before it stood a towering jade statue, its features obscured by hazy mist.

Piles of treasures lay spread out, their emanations and pressure even stronger than the magic treasures he used.

Any one of these treasures would have made Golden Core cultivators fight until their heads bled, yet they had been divided into numerous small piles here. Behind him, four Nascent Soul True Lords watched him like tigers eyeing prey. The moment he made any unusual move, he would die.

Wang Zhizhi raised his hand tremblingly, so miserable he nearly wept.

He did not understand. Since his youth, he had cultivated with painstaking diligence.

He rose earlier than chickens and slept later than dogs, endured what ordinary people could not endure, refined what ordinary people could not refine, and had finally mastered divine arts, researched techniques, comprehended the road ahead, carved out a Golden Core great path, and gained five hundred years of lifespan.

Cultivation had always been a bitter task.

One had to endure dull monotony and the exhaustion of body and mind.

Now that he had finally succeeded, why could he not do whatever he pleased?

Was that not the very purpose of his cultivation?

To become someone above others, to be free and unfettered, restrained by no one.

Yet there just had to be people who meddled in others' business, seized him,