Cultivation knows no seasons, and in the blink of an eye, a short month passed.
At dawn of this day, as the gloomy sun broke through and faint light emerged, the central square on the east side of Biyou City was bustling with noise. All sorts of Netherworld Clan members were entering and exiting through the gates of a grand, semi-circular building—an extraordinary sight of liveliness.
In addition to this, many Netherworld Clan members were gathered in groups of three or five by the sides, some standing still as if waiting for someone, others whispering to each other, possibly discussing something, and yet others looking at the lively scene with bewildered faces, only nodding in understanding after getting an explanation from those nearby, obviously newcomers to the city.
In one corner of the bustling crowd, a man dressed in a grey robe, over seven feet tall, stood expressionlessly watching the flowing throng, his thoughts inscrutable.
