This should have been a battlefield—at least, it once had been.
There were no weapons or corpses left to be seen, but the stench of rot and fermentation was unmistakable. Blackened sludge mixed with rainwater, forming something ten thousand times more malicious than a cesspit.
Now and then, sediment settled, revealing pale-yellow, slightly murky liquid. It could reflect everyone's face, surprisingly clearly—but if one stared for too long, it would seem as though an evil spirit were truly laughing in the water.
This was a world that was rotting—and already more than half-rotted.
"So how am I supposed to keep my head down here? Become a maggot?"
Zhang Yang joked half-heartedly as he looked around, but he could find nothing to use as a reference. There were no mountains, no trees, not even any stones. Fortunately, he still had a native Azure Dragon.
"What is this place?"
"It should be—Iron Furnace Plains? Master, I'm not entirely sure. The last time I traveled here was three hundred years ago. Back then, I was preparing to undergo tribulation and ascend, so I came here to bid farewell to some old friends. If I remember correctly, there should have been a great river here."
Azure Dragon spoke hesitantly. It could identify this world not through landmarks, but through its deep sensitivity to the world itself.
"Three hundred years—that really is enough to make the seas change into mulberry fields. But this is definitely a battlefield."
A thought stirred in Zhang Yang's mind. He took out the Immortal Holy Shield Shard his little cousin had given him. He had just been about to toss it casually into the sludge, but after hesitating, he imitated his little cousin and solemnly knelt on one knee before placing it down.
"Buzz!"
The instant it touched the ground,