crack. crack. crack.

The minute cracks on Nie Sang's silver core were starting to spread. No matter what he did, it seemed impossible to stop the spreading, much less to reverse it.

"Looks like this is as far as I make it. Very well, so be it. I was hoping to make it to my two hundred and fiftieth birthday, but 237 years is not bad either..."

Nie Sang let out a sigh of alleviation. These last few years, he had had to deal with too much. His disheveled look, the eyebags under his eyes, his graying hair and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bore witness to that. It wasn't that he wanted to die, it was just that he welcomed it in the face of its inevitability.

For others, it would be inconceivable to see a mighty expert like him in such a miserable state. But he knew that in the grand scheme of things, someone like him did not amount to much. Among the Six Marquises of Golden Wreath Empire, he was on the weaker end. Of this he had always been very aware.

The common folk, however, only saw that he was a Marquis who ruled over a Marquisate as large as any other. This was the Empress's arrangement, meant to weaken the strongest ones who could pose a threat to her rule.

In spite of him having come to terms with his imminent death, the fate of his descendants still troubled him.

According to the deal I struck with the Empress, Nie Clan will receive her protection for a decade. But if none of them manage to reach my realm before that...

A Marquisate without a Marquis was like a treasure hoard with no dragon. It would incite everyone's greed. He knew firsthand how fierce the fight betweeen Marquises could get when enough resources were at stake. The neighboring clans would definitely not pass a chance to claim Nie Clan's properties and rights, even if it meant having to kill all resistance.

Sighing once again, he held up an envelope that contained a letter directed to the higher ups of Nie Clan, where he detailed his plans for the future after he died. Whistling first, he waited for some time. Surprisingly, a white feathered dove answered his call, whereupon he placed the envelope on its back.

Having done this, he stood up and started taking out formation flags and other artifacts from his storage bag, intending to set up his inheritance.

Ordinary humans felt great fear at the thought of death, not because it could be painful, but moreso because they thought they'd be forgotten; that the world would never know they had even lived. For cultivators, this feeling was even more prominent. All the spells they had created, the artifacts and treasures they had crafted and plundered, all the schemes and plots they had come up with, all the marvelous lands and places they had visited. All of that would vanish, like tears in the rain.

"I have a couple of days left, at most. That'll have to do, then."