At the edge of the Demon Marches, black fog hung there all year and never cleared.
Wild wind howled past, carrying dark red grit with it. The world there was choked with violent, icy demonic aura.
An ordinary cultivator only had to step into that place for a moment before the demonic aura would invade the body and wipe out the spirit on the spot. And in that dead, barren land, a massive palace stood in silence between heaven and earth. Its whole body had been forged from black dragon bones and blood-colored dark iron, and it looked like some ancient beast that had slept there forever, giving off a pressure that made the chest tighten.
This was the foundation land of the Demon Dragon Lineage, the Demon Dragon Hall.
Outside the hall, layers upon layers of wards spread out like a spiderweb. Phantom Demon Dragons flickered in the void, and every single ward held enough terrifying power to kill a Top Level High Immortal Realm expert. Even a True Immortal Realm powerhouse barging in recklessly would end with body and soul destroyed.
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