Far away in the North, beyond the Ink Sea, a range of mountains rose abruptly from the snowfield, utterly desolate, without a soul in sight.
Though called a mountain range, its peaks stood very far apart, looking like beetles that had burrowed out of flour.
The snowfield was white, but the mountains were black. The colors were so monotonous that looking at them for too long made the eyes uncomfortable.
It was said that this had once been the ancestral seat of the Ten Thousand Pines Sect, later destroyed in the greatest Beast Tide, leaving not a trace behind.
This place was already close to the edge of the Snow Nation, and remained bitterly cold even in early summer.
The Gang Wind above the high clouds, in particular, was as cold as knives. Whether flying by Sword Control or aboard a treasure, one could hardly last very long. Flying carriages that could keep out the bitter cold were too dangerous because they were slightly slower. Only with the supreme treasures of the great cultivation sects could one travel freely here.
If a cultivator flew high in the sky, or landed on the tallest solitary peak to the northwest and looked north, they would see disturbances in the energy of heaven and earth arising from time to time across a thousand-li expanse of snowfield. Especially around those black mountains, every so often fierce winds could be seen tearing apart the low-hanging leaden clouds, sword light and treasure light shining against each other. Tornado-like snowstorms rose from the surface of the snowfield, mingled with piercing screams and low rumbles, looking like countless fireworks.
-Those were the young cultivators participating in the Plum Gathering's Dao Battle, searching everywhere for Snow Nation Monsters to hunt and kill.
The surroundings of one solitary mountain were