Every disciple of Three Pure Ones Mountain who fought these demonic cultivators shared one feeling.
These people were far too good at fighting!
Though they were only in the first and second realms, every move was cunning, their magical power was exceptionally deep, and they were astonishingly cautious. Their flying swords could attack and defend, and could even support one another.
By comparison, the disciples were each fighting their own battles. Had the enemy possessed more than just bloodlight and flying swords, and had the disciples not had so many wondrous arts at their disposal, they would probably have struggled even more.
But had He Si known what they were thinking, he would certainly have laughed aloud.
The orthodox cultivators truly were cultivating toward immortality, seeking longevity and the Dao, seeking a place among the immortals. But what were his people doing? Cultivating demonic arts! What they sought was slaughter, a chance to stay alive!
He Si wondered how old he was this year. Twenty-five? Twenty-eight? He could no longer remember clearly, yet now he looked fifty!
How many years of life did these orthodox cultivators before him have? Eighty? A hundred? Or two hundred?
And how many years did he have left? Twenty at most! The lifespan he gained from breaking through realms could not even make up for what he lost by consuming his essence blood to cultivate his arts.
How many of these orthodox cultivators could reach the third realm? He Si did not know. But he remembered his master saying that, among their batch who entered the underground caverns, even one or two reaching the third realm would be an unexpected delight.
His master had said that this was simply how it was for the first generation. Once the Blood God Sect had gained a firm