As he stepped through the invisible barrier of the Nameless Nether Valley, the still, deathly silence that had lingered around his ears for an entire year shattered instantly. In its place came the eternally cold winds of the Undead Great Wilderness, howling and wailing, chilling him to the bone.
The Nether Valley was an exceedingly rare haven in this perilous Undead Realm.
After hundreds of millions of years of natural settling and mellowing, its death energy had shed the frenzied malice of violence, slaughter, devouring, and plunder, becoming gentle, pure, stable, and peaceful. Sheltered from every conflict and battle outside, it was a refuge countless lowly undead sought all their lives but never had the fortune to enter.
But that peace existed only within the valley's barrier.
A single step separated two entirely different worlds.
Beyond the barrier lay the boundless Undead Great Wilderness, barren and deathly still. As far as the eye could see, the earth was dry and cracked, without a blade of grass. Pitch-black death energy surged endlessly between heaven and earth like turbid waves of ink-oppressive, cold, and cruel, without the slightest vitality or warmth.
Since this plane's birth, through the passing of endless ages, the Undead Great Wilderness had never changed its ultimate law.
The strong preyed on the weak, surviving by devouring. That was all.
Shiheng stood tall as a mountain, his steps calm and steady as he walked slowly across the black, barren frozen earth.
Behind him, two figures followed closely, somewhat reserved yet affectionate. Although undead had neither memories nor thoughts, for some unknown reason, they could not bring themselves to attack the person before them. Perhaps this was familial affection: even after becoming undead, entering the Netherworld, and losing awareness, something deep within their soul flames still suppressed their undead instincts