The everlasting golden sun, with its dazzling radiance, spilled across the Great Wasteland once more, the ancient mountains in the distant horizon lying dormant, savage and unrefined. The Gu Yuan Tribe, after undergoing a night of intense battle, still showed no signs of revival at sunrise. The tribe, once filled with hustling and bustling, had turned eerily silent.
The night of the ghosts had passed, countless spirits were slaughtered and numerous Ghost Tribe invaders were decimated. Despite the brief respite of surviving the disaster, all faces were filled with grief. The tribesmen had their right arms wrapped with black cloth as a sign of mourning, fragrant sandalwood incense was burned in the open space outside their doors, and wicks soaked in beast fat were lit.
