The prodigies of those days had been no different.
A thousand years had passed. He had traversed the Demon Realm's countless mountains and rivers, braved innumerable perilous lands, and obtained endless fortuitous opportunities, tempering his body until it was impervious to blades and spears, immune to water and fire.
Yet he still could not find a way out.
He had even come to regret it.
He regretted leaving Sword City back then, regretted coveting that so-called shortcut.
He wanted to return the way he had come, to go back to Sword City, to see the mountains and waters of his homeland once more. But that had become an unattainable dream.
A thousand miles of dead land held not a trace of life, let alone spiritual energy.
Even the laws within the void were chaotic. Heaven and earth there were a mass of chaos, filled with lethal danger at every turn. Forget him and the monk—even experts of the Demon Realm, even the demon kings of the demon race, could not pass through.
That thousand-mile stretch had become a deathly chasm. No one had ever been able to leave!
In the blink of an eye, a thousand years had gone by.
The prodigy of those days had become a white-bearded old man.
He no longer practiced swordsmanship or cultivated. Day after day, he merely wandered the Demon Realm, as though searching for something, or perhaps fleeing from something.
In his despair, he had taken in a disciple in Sunset City, hoping to pass down his skills and leave behind at least a memento.
But the Heavenly Dao was as unyielding as iron and still gave him no direction.
As a result, he had become deranged over the years, lucid at times and muddleheaded at others, long since stripped of the dashing