Dark Currents Stirring

"Master, it has already been eight days. The offensive outside the city... is rather strange."

On Tian Yuan City's hundred-zhang-high walls, fierce winds howled, crashing against the walls like raging waves and producing repeated thunderous roars.

Chen Ping'an wore a black battle robe, pressed tightly against his body by the violent wind, yet he seemed wholly unaware of it. He merely stared at the dense formations of foreign race troops outside the city, his brows drawn tightly into a deep frown.

Sunlight struggled through the roiling black clouds, casting its weak, setting-sun-like rays over the battlements. Chen Ping'an's profile flickered between light and shadow, just like his state of mind, heavy with gloom and unease.

"Even you can smell that something is off."

Standing beside Chen Ping'an, Master Xiūmù rested his dry, thin hand on the icy wall bricks. Wind fiercely filled the sleeves of his monk's robe, making them billow as if they might be torn apart by the savage gale at any moment.

His clouded eyes narrowed into slits as his gaze scraped over the densely packed yet eerily silent allied army of the three races in the distance. He slowly said, "Surrounding without attacking, using a dull blade to carve away flesh. Those three Mahayana-stage old monsters have not appeared again since showing their faces. Something is amiss. What they are plotting now... is likely not this city before us."

"They have another objective?"

Chen Ping'an abruptly turned his head, his voice carrying the sharpness unique to young cultivators. "Tian Yuan City is already humanity's final iron gate! What else could they want? Surely they are not planning to dig three feet under—" His voice suddenly stopped.

It was as though his own thought had scalded him. His pupils contracted sharply, and he turned toward Master Xiūmù,