Immortal Calendar, Year 3. Jiangdong, coastal region.
A territory roughly thirty thousand li from east to west and nearly ten thousand li from north to south was now shrouded beneath an endless, boundless river.
The surging waters were black as ink, their bottom invisible at a glance. A dense sea of mist steamed from the river's surface—not water vapor, but [Demon Miasma] formed from countless members of the Demon Race gathering together. Step by step, it was replacing spiritual essence, causing all things between Heaven and Earth to undergo corresponding changes.
Yet all living things would always find a sliver of life.
Even amid such desperate circumstances, large and small regions still survived like sparks in a prairie fire beneath the great tide of the Dragon Lord's conquest of the land.
[Old Lord Temple] was one of them.
At the bottom of the river, atop a modest earthen hill, layer upon layer of formations operated, holding up a curtain of light that forced all the river water away.
On the hill, several dozen cultivators busily worked in tense silence.
They were currently the most highly cultivated group on the mountain, and thus had come to undertake the most dangerous task: repairing and inspecting the isolation formation.
It was called the most dangerous task because flaws in a formation were always unavoidable. If they were lucky and encountered no problems, that was one thing. But once something went wrong, they had to withstand the leaking [Demon Miasma] and swiftly patch the breach. One misstep, and their lives would be in danger.
This time, they were clearly unlucky.
"Quick! Seal the breach!"
"No good! The gap is getting bigger and bigger. [Demon Miasma] has already gotten in. Repairing the formation alone probably won't stop these damned things!"
"Get back to the temple!"