Lan Yueru scanned the area, her sharp eyes taking in the ruins with cautious precision.
Cracked stone towers loomed in the distance, draped in ivy and the ghostly mist of long-forgotten battles.
Broken banners of long-dead sects fluttered in the stale wind, whispering of the power and glory that once stood tall before being buried in blood and silence.
Tian Shen exhaled, his gaze fixed on the dense fog that rolled across the ridge below them.
The land itself seemed to pulse with war-born resentment, as if the very stones carried memories of slaughter and regret.
From behind them, intermittent flashes of light lit up the withered skyline.
Dozens of Feilun Sect disciples were being teleported in at staggered intervals, their feet hitting cracked rock as they appeared across the ridge.
They bore the robes of the inner court, calm and ready, but even they glanced warily at the desolate battlefield.
