(Second update)
One day later.
It was the same little hill, the same patch of woods.
The difference was that Yang Ming and his companions had long since withdrawn after accomplishing their mission, leaving only the wreckage of a fierce battle behind.
A group arrived and surveyed the devastated ground. Scorch marks lay everywhere, along with sword scars resembling a child's careless scribbles. Every sword scar was at least five meters deep and over twenty meters long, large enough to bury countless bodies. They bore witness to how fierce the battle here had been.
The group's makeup was complicated.
Most wore the distinctive attire of the Holy Dragon Sect. Their faces were drawn with misery, as though their parents had died. Even from a distance, they radiated a suffocating gloom. Yet none spoke, merely following silently behind. More astonishing still, they were not the ones in charge.
Only three men stood ahead of these Holy Dragon Sect disciples.
Just three men, yet none of the Holy Dragon Sect disciples dared breathe too loudly, much less question their leadership.
Two wore golden robes, the attire of Spirit Hall's Elder Hall. Both had white beards and faces weathered by time, and each carried a Coiling Dragon Staff. More remarkably, they looked exactly alike. They were also old acquaintances of Yang Ming: Spirit Hall's Consecrated brothers, Qian Jun Douluo and Demon Subduing Douluo.
The third man was likewise an old acquaintance of Yang Ming.
He had an imposing physique and wore flamboyant, ostentatious clothes. His defiant face now bore a grave expression, with worry gathered between his brows. Had Yang Ming been here, he would have recognized him at once as Caesar, the man he suspected was a fellow transmigrator.
The group walked for a while before finally stopping.
Before them lay a