Early the next morning, the Demonic Path martial artists gathered within Mishui Immortal Palace began departing in an orderly manner under the guidance of the palace's disciples.
Meng Zhao delayed until noon before reluctantly parting with Gu Sinan and Yun Fei. As he left, he glanced once more at the towering peaks that pierced the clouds, vast and surging, their momentum rolling forth. To him, the power of the grand formation remained as majestic and mighty as ever, utterly unmatched.
At the same time, he secretly regretted that Grandmaster Qiao had ultimately not come looking for him.
He knew that Grandmaster Qiao had some connection to the Meng Family, but that was only a guess. He could not simply go knocking on the door to claim kinship. It was not that he was unwilling to humble himself; rather, Grandmasters were mercurial in temperament. If Grandmaster Qiao could casually burn Fu Ning and Kang Youde to death, he might just as well fly into a violent rage and strike at him.
Thus, the initiative lay in Grandmaster Qiao's hands, not his. He could only wait passively, but unfortunately, he did not receive the answer he wanted.
When they reached the riverbank at the end of this wilderness, Zheng Que and Su Can, the martial brothers who had originally traveled with Meng Zhao, also bade him farewell. Still, they would likely meet again before long.
At this time, only Niu Dali, bare-chested and looking as fierce as a demon, and Wei Qi, dark-faced and burdened with worries, remained by his side.
Meng Zhao walked slowly along the lush, grassy riverbank with his hands clasped behind his back. When he reached a low-lying stretch near the marshes, he suddenly stopped and looked around. All was vast and desolate, with scarcely a trace of