Three days later, at dawn.
When Lin Qin walked out of the cultivation chamber, the eastern sky had only just begun to lighten. The mountain mist had yet to disperse, dew clung to the blades of grass, and the air carried a faint chill. He wore an ordinary azure robe, with the long saber that had accompanied him for a thousand years hanging at his waist. His steps were steady as he headed toward Blood War Valley.
Blood War Valley lay at the eastern foot of the Heaven Sacrifice Mountain Range, three hundred li from Azure Rock Valley. Lin Qin did not fly, but walked there step by step—this was a habit he had developed over the past thousand years. No matter where he went, he walked. Every step upon the earth was cultivation.
An hour later, he saw the outline of Blood War Valley.
It was a crude camp built from black stone, situated in a hollow between two mountain peaks. There were no walls around the camp, only several solitary stone houses scattered about, making it look utterly unremarkable. Yet Lin Qin could sense the intricate formations inscribed beneath each of those stone houses.
Six people were already standing at the camp entrance.
At their head stood a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a powerful build. His tiger-like eyes gleamed with spirit, and simply standing there, he possessed an imposing aura without needing to show anger—Tyron of the White Tiger branch, a Seven-Star Fiend whose reputation within the clan was renowned. It was said that he had participated in over a thousand Blood War Valley patrols and survived more than eight hundred of them. He was a true veteran.
"Lin Qin?" Tyron nodded when he saw him. "You're here."
Lin Qin bowed slightly. "Elder Tyron."
"Don't call