The situation turned strange. Within the Inner Circle of the Primordial Realm, the Clone raced ahead under Sword Control, while countless figures chased after him like stars pursuing the moon. Amid the pursuit, threats and intimidation rang out without end.
The Clone turned a deaf ear.
The pursuing cultivators were all infuriated. They had guarded against this very possibility, fearing that someone would appear halfway through to snatch the prize, yet for all their precautions, they had failed to prevent it. They did not even know who the fellow fleeing ahead was. If he escaped, they would not even be able to find him afterward. Judging only from a few outward characteristics, he appeared to be a Sword Cultivator of the Human Race.
Some sharp-eyed people also noticed something unusual: although the Treasure Gourd kept circling that person, it did not seem to show any sign of being subdued. That gave them a measure of hope.
As the chase continued, time passed. Some people fell behind, but most clung on like maggots to a bone, impossible to shake off. Moreover, cultivators nearby heard the commotion and rushed over, so the number of people pursuing the Clone not only did not decrease, but steadily increased.
Several times, people intercepted him from the front and sides, forcing the Clone to take detours as danger surrounded him at every turn.
This had dragged on for too long. A truly successful treasure grab meant taking it and leaving, then concealing one's tracks so that no one even knew who had succeeded. By that standard, the Clone's attempt to seize the treasure had been far too drawn out. If not for his speed, he would already have been trapped in an encirclement.
If this continued, the situation would only worsen. The area available for movement