The old man was right. There isn't any way to mistake the land riddled with Rift-infestation.
It's as though Mo Yinan has stepped inside some sort of threshold because the sky darkens instantly, an eerie drawl coats the landscape. There are distant shrieks carried to him by the wind, as though warning him to turn back.
Mo Yinan, undaunted by any amount of horror or even pain, marches forward. He welcomes it even, so long as it serves as a distraction to his aching heart. Though his mortal shell groans in complaint, Mo Yinan's physical shell is hardly as fit as it used to be in previous worlds. But he doesn't care and continues on his journey.
He has no reason to do anything else. He has no reason to care about anything else.
