There was no light and no wind. Boundless darkness immersed everything, near and far, as if the world had plunged into a limitless bottle of ink, brewing in the eternal silence.
Here was the Savage Land, the western mountain, under the black tide.
At the foot of the western mountain at the Savage Land, every ten days, there must be a day where the black tide arrived. Under the black tide, all living beings would cease to live. Under the blue dome of heaven and above the earth, all living beings would accept its baptism, and not one would be spared.
Under the earth within the mountains, and in the rivers and lakes, each creature huddled in fear waiting for the end of the black tide.
In a nameless cave in the Western Mountain, a young cultivator was wielding a sword, guarding at the mouth of the cave. The plain looking sword was held pointing forward, one end at the mouth of the cave, the other end stabbing the thick ink-like black tide.
