It was a sunny morning across the central continent of the Pristine planet. All the greatest cultivators on the planet were tense within the Three Extremes Sect. There were no longer hundreds of them radiating a divine aura after the physical reconstruction; currently, only half a dozen of these cultivators remained. They all reached this level recently.
Practically 99% of the greatest cultivators died in the last hundred years, in a suicidal war against a small city. Everything was surrounded by a formation, leaving no route for escape or replenishment of Qi; they were like a turtle in a jar and should be quickly destroyed.
At first, the Three Extremes Sect volunteered to send all its cultivators to try to create ties with the twelve families; but shortly after, they realized the mistake they made.
