This is the sorrow of an era, the misfortune of cultivators. Every practitioner of cultivation was struck by a blade of heavenly will; some persevered, some were crippled, and others perished.
In just over ten days, the number of cultivators dwindled dramatically. Two percent had passed away, or their injuries from the great path flared up again, leaving with bitterness and unwillingness from this world.
In a desolate era, there is no lack of extraordinary talents, no shortage of peerlessly beautiful figures. However, in this Dharma-Ending Age, they can only look up to the heavens and sigh, lamenting their unfortunate birth.
A month later, except for a few, ninety-nine percent of cultivators who lived for over a million years perished. Without special fortunes, without undying substances, their bodies decayed, and their Primordial Spirits collapsed immediately.
