"They are truly ruthless."
At the Sword Casting Manor, Ning Zheng reopened the vortex next door after a five-day interval.
As soon as the space turbulence was activated, it revealed a distorted and blurry scene—a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, with two individuals slaughtering a civilization of giant shrimp depicted on the mural of a tomb.
A thousand lives every second, it truly hurts.
Thus, he dared not watch often. Watching once every five days was already quite diligent, yet he did not expect that upon opening it this time, they had reached this level.
Night Mad Cultivator, Jiucai Rong, were no longer immature, their expressions sharp as knives, giving off an aura of seasoned warriors amidst corpses and blood.
They were striving, doing their utmost, continuing as the two main managers of the manor, leading the blacksmiths to survive in the harsh Otherworld!
For them, this was not a game but a blood-soaked reality.
Thousands of years.
