Feint

Three days later.

A fleet of twelve immortal ships slowly flew in from the horizon, a thousand li beyond the Frostcrest Archipelago.

Cultivators of every stripe stood packed upon the ships, banners snapping in the wind. They looked like a mighty army of cultivators, imposing and grand. But a closer look revealed that while this cultivator army appeared powerful, there were in fact very few truly powerful cultivators among them.

The vast majority were in the Myriad Laws Realm; there were scarcely even a few in the Immaculate Realm.

Only on the lead ship sat an old man, the sole Nirvana Realm cultivator.

Seated high upon a dragon-headed chair, the old man wore a tiger-hide shirt that bared most of his body, his muscles still boldly defined. He had clearly once been a fierce, burly man. Though advanced in years now, he remained vigorous and sharp-eyed, murderous aura surging around him.

At this moment, the fleet was passing over a stretch of mountains, high peaks enclosing them on every side.

In terrain like this, if there were an ambush, it would be all too easy to be attacked from both flanks.

The immortal ships could have flown higher, avoiding the ranks of mountain peaks, yet they deliberately chose to travel through these mountains.

All along the way, the breeze was gentle, the clouds light, the mountains verdant and waters fair. Not the slightest sound could be heard.

The old man drank his wine and smiled faintly. "The mountains are so elegant and silent—clearly, a heavy force lies in ambush. It seems the bandits truly have come. Since they refuse to make the first move, we shall strike first."

With that, he flicked his wine cup away. The seemingly lax cultivators aboard the twelve immortal ships immediately sprang into motion, tearing