This Was a Word Game

"This really is the way out!"

Since outsiders had appeared here, there had to be a passage. Zhao Han let out a breath of relief and immediately began searching the area.

Before long, he spotted a corpse.

It was the corpse of someone who had died of old age—not killed, not taken by illness, but truly dead of old age.

The man had been a little over a hundred years old. His hair and beard were completely white, his body gaunt, and he had collapsed on the ground outside the Endless Underworld's sinkhole.

The corpse was still relatively fresh, a stark contrast to the remains on the wasteland, which had clearly lain there for thousands upon thousands of years.

"Since there are people here, I'll find them and ask."

"The footsteps lead east."

Having found the direction, Zhao Han flew off at once.

Before long, he spotted five old men, each around fifty, returning toward the sinkhole. Blood stained their clothes.

All five wore ten Storage Rings, one on each finger.

They all looked rather relaxed, clearly having found something.

Rather than alert them by capturing them, Zhao Han quietly followed behind.

Only when they reached the vicinity of the deep, shadowy sinkhole did the five proceed without hesitation, climbing down the sheer cliff from the rim.

After they had gone some distance, Zhao Han followed their example, hiding his presence and keeping close behind them along their established route.

This route seemed well-traveled and relatively safe.

It had probably been tested by countless predecessors with their lives.

Along the way, Zhao Han finally understood why they were so cautious, taking one careful step at a time.

On the other sheer cliffs beyond this route, black holes would suddenly appear from thin air now and then, spinning clockwise.

Zhao Han