"Are there still Spirit Transformation cultivators among the Northern Plains human race?"
"And they are just letting the situation become like this?"
Jiang Ding frowned.
That was uncertain.
In the eyes of many high-level cultivators, mortals were a species that could sprout in great swathes every hundred years. If they died, they died.
If the Demon Race could be dealt with later, then after at most a few centuries, letting them multiply and thrive would create another flourishing land of humans.
Or, thinking in a darker direction, perhaps this was deliberate.
Rebellions erupted one after another in the Northern Plains. Every cultivator was steeped in rebellion, slaughtering Royal Court nobles at the drop of a hat, without a shred of reverence. They did not believe themselves in any way inferior to the Royal Court's noble bloodlines. My fate is mine, not Heaven's.
Those cultivators, along with the vast number of mortals influenced by them, could die and be done with it.
In the eyes of many clan cultivators, they deserved to die.
Then, after spending several hundred more years breeding another batch of mortals and cultivators, carefully teaching them from childhood how to respect the Royal Court's noble bloodlines, selecting them layer by layer, sealing off all contamination from the outside world—perhaps there would be even more pleasant surprises in the end.
The ancient noble bloodlines might be reborn under such circumstances, once again ruling everything.
"Today, Ten Thousand Demons Valley of the Western Desert occupies more than half of the Northern Plains. It has built a paradise for the Demon Race, keeping humans as slaves and food."
That was written in the Maid Court meeting records.
"The remaining smaller half of the grasslands is ruled by the Six Paths Sect, the Guishan Iron Clan, and the Great Sun Sect.