The nearby Iron Mountain Sect members looked at him in surprise when Heilam ordered them to put a last stand, but they did not question him.
Orders were passed down quickly through sound talismans, miniature array disks, and shouted commands.
From all directions, figures began to emerge from the fog. Tired disciples. Wounded elders. Faces stained with poison mud and blood. One by one, they gathered around Heilam, forming a tight group.
No one spoke as they started to come to terms with their own eventual deaths. Not long after, ripples of powerful aura rolled through the marshland.
The Purple River Sect had arrived.
Their elders stepped out of the thinning poison fog from all sides, their robes clean, their expressions cold. Disciples followed behind them in neat formations, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
The Iron Mountain Sect stood together, backs to each other, surrounded. Heilam lifted his head and met the approaching gazes. If this was the end, then they would face it as one.
