Twenty days had passed since the Culling Game began in the Divine Realm.
On a wasteland somewhere in the Divine Realm, a long procession struggled onward.
They had come from every direction, all headed for the same place-the Border Wasteland, where golden and black auras churned.
But the farther they went, the harder the journey became.
The first wave of obstacles was a vast swarm of Cursed Spirits.
They burrowed out of the ground, lunged from behind ruins, and squeezed through gaps in the curtain, covering the entire wasteland in dense layer upon layer.
One after another, the gods at the front were torn apart, smashed to pieces, or swallowed whole.
Some remains were left on the ground, only to be gnawed clean by other Cursed Spirits moments later.
But some powerful fighters carved their way out of the swarms.
Covered in blood, their divine artifacts in hand, they fought their way forward, racking up points like mad.
Tang San was one of them.
Yet he had not flown at any point.
For these entire twenty days, he had never taken to the air.
"Lord Tang San, why don't you fly over?"
A Second-Level God in the procession could not help asking.
Tang San did not answer immediately.
He merely raised his head and glanced at the gray-gold sky on the distant horizon.
Then he said, "Watch."
He raised a hand and pointed somewhere a short distance ahead.
A god was taking flight there.
Apparently unable to bear being chased by the Cursed Spirits on the ground any longer, that god intended to use his flying speed to rush through in one go. His body had only risen a dozen or so zhang off the ground.
At that very instant-a Cursed Spirit on the ground raised its head.
A ring