In any war, manpower was always the foremost resource.
With the great battle between realms fast approaching, even the Fire Origin Spirit Race was doing everything it could to recruit cultivators from every race, even Rogue Cultivators, and bolster its ranks!
The recruitment station at the city gate could no longer be described as noisy.
It was a boiling cauldron of steel.
Countless beings crowded together, packed in like sardines in a can.
The air was thick with sweat and rust, along with an indescribable feverish excitement—the kind that came before a slaughter.
Everyone was shouting.
Everyone was shoving.
Shen Fan stood at the edge of the crowd, his expression calm.
His gaze swept across face after twisted face.
Some belonged to the Fire Origin Spirit Race.
But they were in the minority. The truly elite members of the Fire Origin Spirit Race had no need to enlist. The higher-ups had already dispatched them elsewhere.
Most of those gathered here were actually Rogue Cultivators from various races.
Compared to the Fire Origin Spirit Race members who had enlisted of their own accord, these Rogue Cultivators were undoubtedly more formidable.
Most of them were at the True King realm, and a handful even had the cultivation of True Ancestors.
But almost all of those were the lowest grade: Ninth-Grade True Ancestors.
Shen Fan understood.
These were the gamblers the old man had spoken of: people who had exhausted their potential and could only seek a sliver of hope on the battlefield.
They were the lowest-ranking cannon fodder in this hunting game.
And the most numerous.
Shen Fan stopped observing.
He strode toward the most crowded registration desk.
He released no aura.
Yet his body was like an invisible blade, easily parting the packed crowd.
Anyone standing in his way found themselves