On Purple Cloud Mountain, Zhuyue was casting a spell with all his might, an inexplicable aura crisscrossing in the void. However, the Demonic Qi probing into the creation showed no sign of retreating, as if locked in a stalemate—
"What kind of great demon dares to contend with Lord Zhuyue?"
"Could it be the one holding the lid of the Heaven-Devouring Demon Pot?"
Ziyun Master and the others all looked exceptionally grave.
...
Meanwhile.
In a certain mountain cave, an ancient, decayed elder had already sat up from his coffin. His eyes were tightly closed, yet his long hair was slightly fluttering, and his hand was forming a Dharma Seal.
"Can you see it?"
The elder spoke calmly, one hand probing into the creation to block Zhuyue, yet he remained calm and composed, his words devoid of any panic or urgency.
