The howling black wind spiralled and clashed above the swampy woodland, where the flickering radiance of treasures shone intermittently. In that light, one could barely make out the shapes of people and scattered corpses, tumbling from the sky into the mire to meet their demise.
The cultivators bold enough to venture deep into the heart of the marshlands fought fiercely whenever they met, as long as their numbers were not too disparate. In comparison to the truly rare natural treasures, the flesh and property of their opponents were the 'opportunities' these heretics eagerly sought.
The victors naturally took everything, while the losers' flesh would continue to nourish the creatures of the marshlands. Until the next time the marshlands opened, they would transform into new spiritual treasures and lure a new batch of adventurers to join this endless banquet of reincarnation.
