At the outskirts of the Ancient Demon Star Altar, the void was deep and the starlight sparse. A patrol squad led by Xuan Feng, a disciple of the Lingxiao Sword Sect, moved between floating stellar wreckage in a strict battle formation. Cold sword light reflected off young, vigilant faces. Several days had passed since Xuan Feng first sensed danger, and everything appeared calm on the surface. Yet an indescribable oppression, like an invisible web, hung over every member of the squad.
Xuan Feng frowned deeply, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. He constantly felt a pair of icy eyes watching from the shadows. His divine sense repeatedly swept the surrounding void, yet found nothing. He did not notice that deep in the eyes of Yun Che, the junior brother closest to him, there occasionally flickered a faint gray gloom utterly out of place amid the vibrant life of the Star Altar. The Seed of Resentment that had infiltrated him that day had already taken root deep within Yun Che's Dao heart, quietly warping his perceptions.
"Senior Brother, why do you think the alliance is pouring so many resources into this place?" Yun Che suddenly asked, his voice carrying a trace of barely perceptible irritation. "Other war zones are barely holding on, while we are here... practically idle. Could it be that our lives are worth less than Li Wuyang's alone?" As soon as he spoke, several disciples in the patrol squad shifted slightly. His words had clearly touched upon the hidden worries in their hearts. After battle upon battle, with their fellow disciples dwindling and resources distributed unfairly, resentment had long begun to grow in some of them. Now, some force was quietly amplifying it.
Xuan Feng's heart tightened, and he barked, "Yun Che! Do not speak