A Feast Always Ends! The Old Daoist and the Boy!

The next morning.

As the many players gradually dispersed, the empty plains seemed to return to their former desolation.

The remaining ten thousand-plus Black Wind Stronghold elites rested among the vacated Mongol army camps. Some players with carpenter life professions worked together to dismantle and reassemble the grain wagons Jiang Dali had "borrowed" from the Mongol army, piecing them into an enormous transport cart capable of carrying the Demon Dragon's cage.

Jiang Dali had changed into a loose lake-green robe. The Dali Fire Qilin Saber was still slung across his back, but the change of clothes had diminished some of his icy murderous aura, lending him a freer, more dashing air.

He stood tall at the entrance to Jingyan Palace, overlooking the many stronghold players bustling about on the Horse-Lingering Plains beneath Thousand-Mile Ridge, his mind calm.

Just yesterday, he had spent the day harvesting from most of the players who had come to participate in the faction mission, gaining a full 1.2 million Cultivation Points and over 1.4 million Potential Points.

That was despite roughly a quarter of those players not coming to him to learn or upgrade martial arts. Even so, his gains had been immense, exceeding his expectations.

Jiang Dali did not force those quarter of players who had not come to learn new martial arts or improve their existing ones.

That did not mean those players had managed to fleece him in return.

As long as they remained Eight Desolations disciples, they remained part of the same community of interests. Sooner or later, they would still come to him to learn or improve martial arts.

The Cultivation Points and Potential Points they had saved for now would most likely be used to raise their cultivation realms, or less likely, to learn martial arts from their respective