The elder steps through the air, arriving slowly.
Though lacking a formidable aura, the surrounding fog and Firmament relentlessly shift.
Pervasive omens flourish in this void.
A True Monarch, this is already the upper echelon of immortals.
In the Heavenly Court, he is among the elites.
The elder emerges, his black robe stark against the white mist.
"True Monarch, save us," one of the Sixteen Immortals struggles to say.
As if they have seen hope.
But disdain is the only thing in the elder's eyes.
"A bunch of worthless fools, I was hoping I wouldn't need to intervene personally. No wonder you can't ascend to immortality.
If you are worthless, it's better to die early and be reborn,"
The elder said mercilessly.
The Heavenly Court lacks nothing but waste.
According to the elder's understanding, anyone who can't ascend to immortality is called useless.
He is a True Monarch, one of the Three Monarchs of the Heavenly Court, adorned with supreme honor.
