Eight Lords sighed leisurely. "That Hungry Tiger should have come from Dayin Mountain, shouldn't he?"
"Then the outside world's guesses were right. After Yin Dao was defeated, he left the Southern Border and fled to the distant north to hide."
"Only Yin Dao, whose fame stood alongside Marquis Shen's Staff, could have trained such a formidable successor!"
Eight Lords sighed, then suddenly asked Zhou You, "You practice Tiger Form Fist as well. Do you know that Hungry Tiger?"
"I've met him a few times, but we aren't close."
Zhou You thought that looking in a mirror counted as meeting him, so he had not lied.
What interested him more was the tangled love and hatred between Marquis Shen and the Tiger Corpse, as well as the clash and relative superiority of those two peerless divine arts.
Fortunately, Eight Lords was still in the mood to talk. Seeing Zhou You's interest, and with Hai Tianfan beside them wanting to hear as well, he gave them an impromptu explanation.
Once upon a time, the Southern Border was universally acknowledged as the birthplace of the Demon Race, with countless ruins where great demons had fallen.
Because the landscape was sliced apart by innumerable interwoven mountain ranges, leaving very little flat ground, the prefectures and cities of the plains were entirely unsuited to the region.
On this land, humans, demons, monsters, and others lived side by side and came and went freely. They refused to submit to the rule of the capital and even adamantly refused to acknowledge themselves as one of the Fifty Provinces.
How could that be tolerated?
The Sealed Lord dispatched a capable deputy—one of the hereditary marquises, Marquis Shen—to the Southern Border to set the chaos in order.
Clad in a worn old robe and carrying the Sovereign's ceremonial staff,