For cultivators at Kingspot’s level, their minds were rarely perturbed for no discernible reason. They were mostly impervious to violent passions, and ordinary events rarely disturbed their serenity, if ever.
In other words, their mentality was staunch and unwavering.
A strange ripple like the one he’d just sensed was usually an unfavorable omen. Not necessarily a portent of absolute danger, but it was much better safe than sorry.
Currently located a short distance away from Eternal’s main base, he’d been observing the human defenses while considering how best to overcome them. Pressed for time, he had to launch the attack before the main army’s arrival. If not, this fat prize would no longer be theirs to claim.
“I still don’t understand why. The fortifications aren’t too shabby, but they’re not enough to threaten me. What was this ominous sensation just now?”
Cautious by nature, Kingspot was the type who cherished his life. Or put bluntly, he was afraid of death. Fully alert, he ordered, “Everyone, be on the lookout. Don’t relax your guard!”
He had strong demigod demons under his banner, a host of parasites he’d nurtured, and his own expertise with poisons. Whether in attack or in defense, he was a force to be reckoned with.
Therefore, although vigilant, there was little reason for him to overreact.
At this time, a demigod demon offered, “Forefather, the children’s preparations are complete. We’ve found three weak spots in their defensive perimeter. If we focus our attention there, we’ll overcome them in no time.”
With a wide sweep of his hand, Kingspot shouted, “What are you waiting for then? Charge!”
As the warhorns sounded in the air, the entire army surged onwards and clashed against the Eternal defenses.
Kingspot frowned lightly. “What’s ole brother Ghostbranch doing? With the speed of his advance, he should’ve been here by now. Why can’t I see his demonic plants yet?”
Doubts lingered in his mind.
The two of them had agreed to march through different areas and meet outside Eternal’s base.
Ghostbranch would use the plants while his companion attacked with the demonic parasites in a lethal, two-pronged onslaught.
Yet, despite the long wait, Ghostbranch was nowhere in sight.
The agreed-upon time was long past by now. Such lateness was rather unbecoming on such a momentous day.
While annoyed, Kingspot also felt a faint anxiety. His frown deepened as he made calculations on his fingers. There was something amiss.
“I need to contact him.” Without waiting for a minute more, he used a secret wood demon art to call his tribesman.
Wood demons naturally had their own methods of communication. As long as the target wasn’t too far away, getting in touch wasn’t too difficult.
But, like a stone sinking into the ocean, his message was met with absolute silence.
His heart sank. “Impossible! What’s going on?”
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He might not have been close friends with Ghostbranch, but they were on cordial terms. There was no reason for his call to be ignored.
Was his tribesman too busy at the moment to issue a reply?
That didn’t sound right either. Manipulating the plants shouldn’t be this taxing, unless he was in the middle of a fight.
Kingspot’s heart sank even more at this possibility. Obviously determined to protect its home to their last breath, Eternal couldn’t possibly have dispatched an eminent figure against Ghostbranch.
Not to mention, no cultivator of theirs was strong enough for that task. Resistance was possible thanks to their fortifications, but away from them, the humans’ strength was simply laughable.
Kingspot’s vague premonition badgered him ever more insistently as the army sounded the charge. Led by the demigod commanders, the troops crashed against the sacred land’s defenses.
Demonic parasites drilled out from every nook and cranny; a malevolent, bloodchilling cloud of locusts.
Inside Eternal, Ziju Min bit his nails in anxiety at the demons’ unrelenting push. Their fortifications weren’t strong enough to last for long, especially after demon forefathers entered the fray.
Fortunately, the human cultivators knew their backs were against the wall. Their resolve unshaken, they remained determined to fight to the last.
An ominous feeling lingered in Kingspot’s heart, sweeping away the last of his hesitation. “Onwards, children! Eternal shall be ours!”
His battlecry inspired his men, parasites included, seemingly injecting them with a fresh dose of energy as they fought with increased violent zeal.
Under the pressure of the re-energized assault, the three weak areas instantly tottered on the brink of collapse.
Yet, the human defenders didn’t despair. They fought back tooth and nail as parasites surged nearby like a tide, eager to swallow them whole. Any break in the three weak spots of the defenses would herald apocalypse.
The impending doom seemed inexorable. They did have some antidote, but the amount in their possession was like a comparative drop in the ocean, not to mention the numerous demigod demons on top of the divine forefather leading the army.
“Forefather Ziju, something’s afoot. They’re attacking recklessly without regard for their lives. Our lines will soon give way at this rate!”
When hell-bent on victory, demons could fight with terrifying momentum.
Ashen, Ziju Min realized there was no way to escape once the defenses were broken. They could only perish together with their faction.
“Everyone, I, Ziju Min, will go down by your side. I swear there won’t be a moment of peace as long as there’s a single demon still breathing!”
Boosting his men’s morale was the only thing he could do at this dire hour.
This was no fault of his. He’d been a simple elder among many twenty years ago, far below the three great primes, not to mention the venerated forefather.
He was a man without riches or foundations. To suddenly thrust him into the limelight and ask him to shoulder the fate of three sacred lands was too heavy a responsibility.
While not so obvious during the previous lull, the disparity between Myriad Abyss and the demons was laid bare for all to see as soon as the fighting began. Not even Eternal’s divine combatants could fill up the ever-growing number of cracks. The sacred land’s survival hung by a thread.