A voice rang out from the crowd. No one knew who had said it, because who said it did not matter. Everyone knew who the absent person was.
In the middle of the crowd stood a sturdy, powerful body, straight as a javelin.
His hair was white, yet his face looked only a little over thirty, in the prime of life. His features seemed carved by knife and axe, hard and cold as iron.
Even beneath the black robe draped over him, his muscles bulged distinctly. At a glance, he was clearly a brawny man built like a steel plate.
Anyone who had seen what he used to look like would probably never dare connect him with the old man he once was.
That was right—Dragon Group Grand Elder, Nie Jiutian!
No longer caring about his lifespan, he had kept his body at its peak condition at all times.
After this calamity swept through the world, the death toll had become too horrifying to count.
Yet this blood-soaked trial had also remade humanity. Those who survived had begun to understand what racial war meant, and what it meant to choose survival or extinction.
This was no longer an era for civility, rules, and tearful whining.
The surrender faction had been suppressed considerably—or rather, they had mostly been killed off. Most of the wavering fence-sitters had gone to hell as well.
As Nie Jiutian sensed the scene of this living hell, he listened to the movements on the gods' side.
At the nodes the gods had marked in this world, divine power was growing increasingly dense. Some nearby players with supernatural abilities had begun to sense that something was wrong with those places.
Nie Jiutian felt that the final moment might arrive within a matter of days.
Since it had already