A mountain range soaring into the clouds stretched on for who knew how many thousands of miles.
This mountain range was exceedingly strange. There were no trees upon it, nor was there any sign of birds or beasts—only crimson rocks. A faint radiance glimmered from the surface of those rocks, and within that radiance, layer upon layer, countless talismans slowly revolved.
In the western sky, the blood-red setting sun shone upon the crimson rocks, making them gleam in rippling brilliance as though they gave off faint flames.
High above the mountain range, at an altitude of tens of thousands of feet, countless powerful formations and restrictions likewise filled the air. There was no wind and no cloud. The central skies were suffused with a faint grayish-white hue, within which black clouds, like overlapping mountain ranges, had condensed layer upon layer. From outside, one could only see flashes of lightning flickering amid the gloomy black clouds, giving off threadlike gleams, while faint rumbles of thunder could be heard. Yet if one listened carefully, they were too faint to discern. Even those flickering gleams were like the dying wick of a candle in the night, flashing once and vanishing.
At the end of the mountain range lay a valley entrance several dozen feet wide. Like the mountain range itself, the entrance was tightly sealed by sturdy formations. Not even the trace of a bird or beast could be seen, while the violent fluctuations from the formation spread outward without the slightest concealment...
Yet at this moment, hundreds of feet beyond the valley entrance, several thousand cultivators in different garments and holding different magical treasures stretched from the ground into the sky, surrounding the entrance so tightly that not even water could seep through...
Every cultivator wore a tense expression, their eyes fixed