Thanks to Hao Ren's quick thinking—or rather, after serving as an inspector for so long, he had finally developed a keen sense for things ordinary people would never think of—everyone safely retreated into the corridors when tens of thousands of tons of massive rock fragments came crashing down like a torrential rainstorm. Even the soldiers who had just poked their heads out on the other platforms withdrew in time after he shouted a warning. The boulders rained down onto the cavern floor or rolled down the mountainside. For thousands of years, these rocks from the summit of the Sacred Mountain had been carried down from the peak by brave young Werewolves, but today they collapsed in a way no one could have imagined. Uruk watched the scene, light flickering in his eyes, seemingly lost in thought. Becky assumed he was worried about his tribesmen living around the Sacred Mountain and comforted him, "Don't worry. Werewolves are highly alert and physically strong. They definitely evacuated safely as soon as they noticed something was wrong."
"I'm not worried about that." Uruk shook his head. "No tribes live permanently on the main peak of the Sacred Mountain. We all live on the two side peaks and in the mountains west of the Sacred Mountain. I just can't believe the holy Sacred Mountain was destroyed like this... You probably can't understand what this mountain means to us."
Izax looked up at the ceiling of the corridor. As the mountain continued to tremble, sand and dirt rustled down through the seams between the metal plates overhead. However, the shaking around them was gradually subsiding. Clearly, the most powerful wave of falling rocks had ended, and the mechanical devices inside the Sacred Mountain were also shutting down. He turned toward Uruk. "It's starting to calm down.