Three hundred li north of the Immortal Sect Pass in the Northern Domain.
Murky gray clouds churned, as if something had pressed them down from above.
Long Yun stood suspended in midair with his hands clasped behind his back.
He looked only around forty, with a burly build, long gray-white hair spilling behind his shoulders, and a sharply chiseled face with very high cheekbones.
The pupils beneath his two thick brows were dark gold, carrying an indescribable sense of pressure.
There was little emotion in those eyes. With just one sweep downward, even from a hundred li away, whole swathes of cultivators unconsciously shrank back half a step.
The old gray martial robe on his body had frayed cuffs and hems; anyone who did not know better would have thought he had crawled straight out of some stone coffin.
In truth, it was not far off. He had slept for several hundred years and had only just woken not long ago.
That was not much different from crawling out of a coffin.
One had to admit, with that aura of his, even if he wore a pair of flip-flops, he would probably still be taken for an unrivaled powerhouse.
Thick blood and qi, so dense it left people breathless, continuously spilled from within him, and the air within a hundred zhang around him trembled faintly.
Even the void rippled in waves visible to the naked eye.
Martial Venerable.
Of those who could be crowned with this title, which one was not above a Martial Saint, the absolute peak of the Martial Path?
Behind him stood seven or eight Martial Path cultivators.
The one at the front had a lean build, and his features bore a fifty-to-sixty percent resemblance to Long Da. He was Long Yun's second disciple, Long Er.
Long