Seven days passed in the blink of an eye.
The atmosphere in the Central Army Camp was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
Above the entire encampment, a heavy gray haze had already coated the edges of the once-stable barrier of light. Spiritual energy circulated sluggishly, every pulse betraying a strained exhaustion.
Everyone stared fixedly at the pitch-black rift stretching across the void deep within the Returning Ruins.
After the disturbance more than ten days earlier, the expected demonic calamity had not swept in as anticipated.
No demonic creatures surged forth, no turbid energy flooded the skies. The entire void domain maintained an eerie calm.
Yet the calmer it grew, the deeper the chill in the hearts of the cultivators guarding the frontier.
Soldiers seasoned by countless battles understood the danger of such lurking stillness better than anyone.
A storm that refused to break had never simply dissipated without a trace. It was gathering overwhelming power in the dark.
The ever-expanding Void Rift widened slightly with every passing moment. The patterns of torn space along its edges grew increasingly savage, faintly revealing the endless gloom and brutality deep within the interstitial realm.
A second-level demon calamity was already a certainty nailed firmly into place.
No one clung to any hope of escaping it by luck.
The entire camp entered its highest state of battle readiness. Patrols continued day and night, every formation master stood guard at a formation nexus, and pills, spiritual weapons, and talismans were prepared in ample reserves. The whole Central Army Camp resembled a bow drawn to its utmost limit, its taut string on the verge of snapping, awaiting only the final eruption.
The three High Gods gathered on the raised platform of the main camp, standing above the sea of void.
None spoke. Their