Chen Che was unaware of what the group from the Star-Picking Sect discussed next.
He strolled back to the camp.
Chu State, once known as the land of ten thousand great mountains, was now mostly plains. Its moniker, "Demon Beast River," would likely be lost. Perhaps in a few decades, or even a century, many cultivators would come here to settle.
On the way back, Chen Che saw a cultivator with a long white beard, passionately laying out his grand vision, spittle flying as he spoke:
He spoke of how, hundreds or even thousands of years from now, their battle today would undoubtedly be recorded in the annals of history. If their lineages were fortunate enough to survive until then, any cultivator whose family had participated in this battle would hold immense honor.
The few juniors gathered beside him listened, their eyes filled with yearning.
Other cultivators silently clutched funeral urns, saying nothing.
