Those three months were the most "prosperous" yet most cruel period in the Destiny Battlefield secret realm.
But now.
Three months passed.
The hustle and bustle had dispersed, and the prosperity had drawn to a close.
The once clamorous noise had turned into dead silence.
The once fresh blood had long since dried up, buried by the dust.
The once crowded starry sky now appeared empty and desolate.
The treasures waiting to be discovered had long been looted by those top-tier factions and super clans.
Anything with even a modicum of value had been swept away by medium-sized factions and lucky Rogue Cultivators.
What remained...
Were only true scraps and unwanted junk.
Now, only three types of people remained in this secret realm.
The first type consisted of those small factions or lone Rogue Cultivators with restricted access to information who had arrived far too late.
Clinging to the mentality of picking up scraps, they shuttled between shattered stars, rummaging through broken magical treasures, withered spiritual herbs, and incomplete cultivation technique jade slips that predecessors might have missed.
It was just like rummaging through a garbage dump for a bowl that might still have a mouthful of leftover rice.
The second type consisted of those with ulterior motives or those who had accepted special missions.
Perhaps they were searching for specific items, perhaps they were lying in wait for certain targets, or perhaps they simply liked the silence of such ruins.
The third type, however, comprised the very few unlucky individuals who, for various reasons such as closed-door seclusion, injuries, or being trapped, failed to leave in time.
Bah! Another damn piece of junk!
On the surface of a shattered star no more than a hundred miles in diameter.
A foreign expert with cyan flesh-wings growing from his back, his