"Commander, it's been so long, you're still as robust as ever!"
"Commander, has your granddaughter married yet? Why don't I see her..."
"Scram, stop thinking about such nonsense. My great-grandson has been out for thousands of years, and you're still thinking about farts!"
In the starry sky, at the martial training grounds, war machines loomed like clouds, a dense mass that filled the entire view without end. Warships were positioned at the center, linking patterns of Air-Space Warplanes that converged within the Air-Space Mothership.
Ultimately, they all converged onto the Starry Sky Iron Fortress of Nascent Soul Cultivators, densely covered in array patterns and austere laws, forming formidable God-transforming Level Army Formations capable of suffocating the vast majority of Nascent Soul Cultivators.
