On the mountain peak, rain and mist stretched endlessly, as if the world was enveloped in a thin veil.
The fine raindrops silently drifted down, mingling with the mountain mist, rendering the entire peak hazy and mysterious.
Amidst this serene atmosphere, the figures of thirty-six cultivators stood motionless, like specters in the rain and mist.
The wind blew mournfully, mixed with the sound of raindrops hitting leaves, adding an air of somberness.
Every face bore a cold expression, eyes filled with vigilance and hostility. Their breaths were steady and hidden, swords and knives in hand gleamed with cold light, no one knowing towards whom they pointed.
Thus, no one rushed towards the sacred altar bearing the trinity of purple gold, all waiting in place for the right moment.
Because stepping out meant exposing one's back to more people.
Suddenly, a low shout broke the deadlock!
"Don't move!"
