Mottled walls,
Shabby doors and windows,
Through which a faint glimpse of their former appearance could still be seen.
The group walked along the ancient streets,
Looking around with complicated feelings,
Filled with an inexplicable sorrow.
"How magnificent had the Sects been in their heyday?"
As his gaze swept over the sprawling buildings, Tang Tianbao could not help wondering.
The Secret Realm opened only once every hundred years. As this generation's Holy Son, this was his first time entering it.
Although the resources left behind by their predecessors could greatly ease their present difficulties,
Tang Tianbao, Zhou Ziwen, and the others felt strangely little joy. Instead, guilt toward the Sects' predecessors welled up within them.
From the moment they began cultivating, they had been taught to work hard for the Sects' revival, and had long since truly embraced their identities as cultivators of the Sacred Fire Cult.
If their descendants were not so incompetent, why would they need to rely on their predecessors' legacy at every turn?!
Yet facts were facts. Ever since losing its position as the dominant power, the Sacred Fire Cult had suffered relentless suppression from the Divine Sand Sect, growing ever weaker until it had been forced to conceal its name and identity.
It controlled fewer and fewer of the cultivation resources that mattered most, and its circumstances grew increasingly desperate.
After its last elder, Shi Renjie, fell, it was left in the humiliating position of having no Golden Core cultivators at all. Many loyal followers could not accept this, yet there was nothing they could do.
"."
With shame in their hearts, Tang Tianbao, Zhou Ziwen, and Uncle Yang slowly advanced. For a time, none of them spoke.
As an alchemist whose displayed cultivation was only at the middle stage of Foundation Establishment, Liu