The battle was brutally fierce; the lingering force of spells and shockwaves shot about in all directions.
At an inconspicuous mountain pass, Fisher Girl Feng Ying and her good companion climbed up the mountain trembling. They poked their heads out for a look at the chaotic battlefield, but when a fierce wind swept over them, they hurried behind a two-story-tall boulder to hide. The rock was thick and heavy, offering at least a faint sense of safety. From this far away, they surely would not get caught in the crossfire for no reason.
Feng Ying hugged her straight saber, wrapped in tattered cloth and mottled with rust, then took out a crudely drawn map and examined it over and over.
"Strange. There's no major military stronghold here, nor any cultivator clan territory. How did it suddenly become a battlefield?"
Rain shrugged.
"Who the hell knows what's going on? The world is full of inexplicable things."
Suddenly, someone beside them spoke in a ghostly tone.
"I'm a ghost, but I don't know exactly what's going on either. Even the coffin I slept in for two hundred years got blown apart."
Feng Ying and Rain were so startled that they nearly drew their sabers and slashed. They scooted backward on the ground, then looked again. Around the boulder stood a dense crowd of shadowy demons, monsters, ghosts, and even human cultivators. Some craned their necks to watch the excitement, while others pressed their heads into the ground and trembled.
The ones left behind were all the slow runners.
Those who had burned their blood essence had long since fled a thousand miles away. The ones remaining were the stingy lot who could not bear to part with their blood essence.
Before they could ask any more questions, large and small crimson fireballs