Next came the rogue cultivator prodigies.
They had no sect fleets, no splendid robes or Immortal Artifacts. Figures simply tore through the void from all directions, landing along the outskirts of the Ten-Million Mountain Domain in twos and threes, each forming their own small group.
Though they were not as flamboyant as sect disciples, their gazes were deeper and sharper, carrying the vigilance and ambition forged through clawing their way through the Myriad Realms.
Then came the small sects and minor schools, visitors from obscure little realms, and peripheral cultivators who had followed the sects in to ride their coattails—
The tide of people surged, and the clamor rolled on.
In the briefest span of time, an uncountable number of cultivators had gathered beyond the Ten-Million Mountain Domain.
Looking out, robes came in every color, insignias in every form, Dao arts in every variety. The aura of the entire Star Sea had nearly been churned into Chaos.
The prodigies of every faction sized one another up and tested each other. Their words hid sharpened edges, and whenever a minor clash stirred spiritual qi, it drew cheers and noisy jeers from all around.
At that moment, the outskirts of the entire Ten-Million Mountain Domain were as lively as a grand Immortal Dao banquet.
Yet that very liveliness was already a kind of rupture.
Cultivators of this era regarded the Ten-Million Mountain Domain as a land of opportunity, a place to make their names, an ideal stage for tempering themselves.
They rushed forward one after another, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes blazing with hunger for opportunity, ambition for their futures, and the desire to triumph over their peers.
Those emotions were vivid, blazing, real.
Yet they did not belong to this land at all.
The mountain paths beneath their feet had once