Formations?

Formation?

As the mist churned, the warship shot through the sky like an arrow.

Only after a long while did they finally arrive at a complex region.

Looking down from above, they saw one steep cliff after another, like swords thrust upside down into the earth—densely packed and countless.

The cliff faces were covered in the traces of time. Countless cracks spread and climbed like parched blood vessels, telling of the long ages this land had endured.

Amid these crags and precipices, through the gaps revealed by the rolling mist, they could see cave after cave that had been carved by hand, varied in size and arranged in orderly disorder.

Some cave entrances were as broad as city gates, while others were so narrow that only one person could pass through. They were connected by narrow plank paths and iron chains, forming a three-dimensional and intricate nest in the sky.

Chisel marks still remained around the edges of some caves, their lines sharp and distinct. They had clearly been made by some incomparably sharp tool, not ordinary iron implements.

"Senior, this is the territory of the Spirit-Devouring Clan—Sword Bone Peak."

Luo Yuan spoke in a grave voice, his face solemn.

His gaze swept across those empty caves and plank paths, and his entire body unconsciously tensed.

As the Clan Leader of the Spirit Vein Dragon Descendant Clan, no one understood better than he did the power and terror of the Spirit-Devouring Clan.

This mysterious race, entrenched in Sword Bone Peak, had repeatedly driven other foreign races into desperate straits. Their methods were strange, their movements unfathomable; even the Spirit Vein Dragon Descendant Clan at the height of its strength had never dared enter this region lightly.

Yet now, they had marched straight in without encountering the slightest obstruction.

This was