Flames licked the mountainside like a ravenous serpent.
Each time the crimson blaze performed its lascivious dance, the trees let out crackling groans. They were the death throes of nature, already ravaged beyond recognition by the chain of explosions.
Thousands of years of history were scattering into the air as ash.
The implications of that statement went beyond imagination. At the very least, that could only be the case for those who had intended to spend the rest of their lives on Heavenly Sword Mountain.
It had preserved its lineage through countless wars.
And yet now, it had been reduced to such a miserable state that even discussing the possibility of revival was difficult. Who could possibly look upon this devastation and dare envision a future?
It was hard to believe that such destruction had been wrought by only three people.
Some of the practitioners had even forgotten to evacuate, trembling where they stood. They were terrified that the lineage of their ancient sect might end in their own generation—and overwhelmed by the monstrous power of the creatures that had finally bared their fangs.
Resistance was impossible.
No matter how sharp a blade might be, it could not cut through flames.
That was also why…