Yun Li staggered out of the silver gate, his chest heaving as the crisp, cold air of the Ten Thousand Beast Mountain Range filled his lungs.
He looked around, and the landscape he had arrived at was now unrecognizable.
Where once towering peaks and ancient, impenetrable forests had stood, there was now a sprawling wasteland—a massive chunk of the mountain range had been completely flattened by the war between the guardian of the youths and those old rouge cultivators, which literally opened a path from the secluded Eastern Region to the vast world beyond the Empire's reaches.
"Young Master!"
Just then, a blurred streak of white light landed before him.
It was Old Hao, the guardian Yun Li's father had assigned to him.
The old man's white hair and beard were matted with dirt and dried gore, his robes shredded by the shockwaves of the war that had raged outside.
