At the far horizon of the extreme west, the sky turned black as ink in an instant. The disciples aboard the Immortal Sect's twenty Spirit Boats stopped moving at once, silent as cicadas in winter. Deathly energy suddenly descended from the heavens. The rolling dust and sand seemed to ravage not their land, but their hearts.
They were all cultivators—how could they fail to see what the sandstorm carried within it?
There were shadow after shadow within it, countless beyond number, advancing alongside the storm.
No!
Rather, this sandstorm was a torrent formed by their footsteps. They were a Calamity far surpassing any natural Calamity in the world. The Divine Sect's disciples could not imagine what horrifying fate awaited them if they encountered everything within that sandstorm.
Before the sandstorm, these twenty Spirit Boats, each as large as a small town, appeared utterly insignificant.
The Divine Sect disciples trembled. In that moment, those once brimming with fighting spirit had forgotten what to do. The cold wind blowing from afar and the deathly aura sweeping across heaven and earth bore down on them until even their hair trembled unconsciously. They could only stare wide-eyed at the sight before them, praying that the monsters within the sandstorm were not coming for them.
But then, one disciple cried out in delight. Like a rope cast down over an Abyss, it brought them boundless hope.
"The Seventh Chosen... that's the Seventh Chosen! He came out of the monsters!"
Everyone looked toward the forefront of the storm.
They saw a tall, lean man walking with his head lowered. His upper body was bare, revealing sturdy, sleek lines of muscle. Black formation patterns ran across him one by one, mysterious yet exquisitely intricate. His slightly curly long hair fell over his chest. Resting on his shoulder