Saint Battlefield

The Saint Battlefield lay beside Primordial Beginning Mountain. It was said to be an Ancient Battlefield transported here by an Immortal-level powerhouse.

Before Jiang Ping An even approached, he sensed a terrifying aura of slaughter. The dreadful killing intent lingering on the battlefield left one dazed and trembling with fear.

The entire battlefield was pitch-black, while the clouds overhead were crimson. A dense stench of blood rushed at them, and biting winds howled past their ears.

No one knew how many people had died on this battlefield, turning the whole land black. Illusory projections crossed the river of history, flickering faintly across the battlefield.

Although the Saint Battlefield was also a cultivation ground, there were not many people here.

The reason was simple. This terrifying aura of slaughter alone was not something ordinary Cultivators could withstand. Ordinary geniuses were not even qualified to set foot on the battlefield.

An emaciated old man sat before a stone table at the entrance to the Saint Battlefield. A mirror and a cup of tea rested before him.

The mirror displayed a projected scene of a youth practicing swordsmanship. His sword technique was rudimentary, not even worthy of being called a cultivation art—just ordinary sword swings. No one knew what the old man was watching.

"Senior."

When they reached the old man, Jiang Ping An and Miao Xia respectfully bowed.

They could not discern the old man's cultivation. He was at least a terrifying Earth Immortal-level existence.

"To enter the Saint Battlefield, pay ten thousand Immortal Crystals." Without raising his head, the old man continued staring into the mirror and slowly sipping his tea.

Jiang Ping An said, "Senior, I wish to challenge one of the top hundred Cultivators of my realm."

"Hm?"

The tea at the old man's lips suddenly stopped. He lifted