Amid the haze, a shadow play unfolded.
The Demon Cultivator was a Grizzly Bear Spirit, covered in black fur and possessing no notable bloodline. It had relied solely on its tough life and a measure of luck.
Alone and helpless in the vast mountains and forests, cultivating a human form was already an inspiring feat.
It had practically reached the ceiling of what a wild mountain spirit could achieve.
Had it remained in the outside world and found some opportunity, it might have gone a step further. What a pity.
When one drifted through the martial world, how could one avoid getting cut? Luck could not stay on its side forever.
When the polar night descended two years ago, Sin City suffered considerable losses and lacked manpower. Sin City requested reinforcements, and the Divine Court issued an order filled with grand, righteous rhetoric. In short, all sides were to actively provide support.
Support?
The big shots of the Divine Court all lived above worldly concerns. Who the hell, after eating their fill, would willingly go to Sin City to provide support?
So they changed tactics and increased the manpower.
First, they swept through the prisoners locked up in every prison. Whether they had committed murder and arson or merely stolen a chicken drumstick, all were sent in.
If that still was not enough, they went out and caught more.
The city was naturally out of the question. They went into the wilderness instead—catch one when they saw one, catch a pair when they saw two.
With the Divine Court acting in secret, they could catch anything.
The Grizzly Bear Spirit had the misfortune of falling asleep after a single encounter. When it woke, it was already in Sin City. It knew nothing of who the other side's big shot was