The elderly sword cultivator led several disciples ever closer to the center of the Divine Realm with utmost caution. The closer they drew, the greater the pressure from the void became, until none of them could fly on their swords anymore.
They proceeded cautiously through the forest, following paths others had traveled, where it would be somewhat safer.
The sky above the Divine Realm grew murkier and murkier until it was utterly dim. A cool breeze swept past, raising goosebumps on their skin.
"M-Master... that strange voice in my ears is getting clearer and clearer. It feels like something is getting closer to us!" a young disciple said, trembling with fear.
For some unknown reason, the strange curse upon their heads seemed to fill them with an ever stronger sense of unease.
The elderly sword cultivator looked back at his disciples with a dark expression, his face grim.
"We must find the Holy Sect's party quickly. Only by finding them and presenting the Holy Sect's relic can we ask them to dispel our curse," the elderly sword cultivator said slowly.
The disciples nodded earnestly, and they continued slowly and cautiously forward.
The closer they came to the center of the Divine Realm, the stronger the oppressive force from the void grew. The disciples struggled more and more, and the party's pace slowed further and further.
Seeing the others trudging behind him, anxiety surfaced in the elderly sword cultivator's eyes. "Hurry up!" he urged.
The continuous, repetitive voice in his ears seemed to be drawing ever closer, as though it were right behind them and would catch up at any moment.
But the disciples behind him wore exhausted, miserable expressions. Here, near the center of the Divine Realm, the void seemed to grow increasingly solid. It was like walking through sludge;