Yin Mountain.
Now it can no longer be called Yin Mountain.
Within a ten-mile radius, blood flows like a stream, and corpses pile up like mountains, with white bones densely forming a forest.
The sky is shrouded in dark clouds, with fine rain washing over the land, yet unable to cleanse the strong smell of blood emanating from the ground.
A flying sword hovers in the air.
Seated cross-legged atop the flying sword is a figure in black robes.
Xie Xuanyi sits cross-legged, eyes closed, nurturing his spirit, adjusting his breath.
This great battle lasted the entire night.
After all, this was the main sect of Yin Mountain.
