These gods sent to Sandplain had occupied various different posts. Because of this, details varied from those who came back.

However, a few key points were the same.

For example, the Prismatic Convergence Formation had failed to trap the ten sacred lands. It had been effective at the beginning, but was then attacked several times until it was inexplicably destroyed.

After that, the spies within the sacred lands’ ranks went completely silent.

Without these spies, they couldn’t grasp the exact whereabouts of their enemy, which lost them control over the remainder of the battle. In fact, they couldn’t even say how the sacred lands had penetrated the mists.

Lightford was enraged.

How could six gods be so stupid? How could they not have seen the way their enemy had navigated through the mists?

How could the Prismatic Convergence Formation be broken in the first place? Lightford became sober and contemplative. He hadn’t supposed the sacred lands capable of such a feat.

“Do you know who broke the formation? Who spearheaded the effort?”

“We don’t know, sir. When we found out the formation’s failure, it was already too late. It seems that the enemy knew the trick to breaking it very quickly. They destroyed two nodes simultaneously, which rendered half or more of the formation instantly useless.

“Plus, I think they knew about our spies beforehand and thoroughly cleaned them out before they embarked through the mists. We’ve heard absolutely nothing back since, which means our spies have all been uprooted.”

Old Lightford felt his heart grew colder and colder.

A little more thought revealed some hypotheticals. The old man harrumphed. “The ten sacred lands are ancient factions after all. They must’ve guessed the existence of spies, cutting off everyone whom they don’t implicitly trust from outside communication. It’s not like we can buy the hearts of their best.”

Indeed, the elite of the sacred lands were immune to bribery. To make the attempt would reveal their conspiracy to the light and their efforts, fruitless.

The most they could do was seed the second and third rate factions around Myriad Abyss, hence Bluesmoke’s large-scale participation in the competition of geniuses. The objective was naturally to plant spies in the sacred lands.

Alas, all of their designs had come to naught. Their initial successes yielded much fruit, but their line of information was ultimately cut off later on.

The ten sacred lands weren’t as incompetent as the prison escapees initially expected. 

“Even if they broke the Prismatic Convergence Formation, the mists contain many well-refined and esoteric poisons. Why were the ten sacred lands completely unharmed by them? Their travel should’ve taken more than long enough for the poison to make it into at least some of them.”

“That’s what I’d like to know as well, sir. They seemed to have known about the toxic mists and took measures accordingly. Moreover, I believe that they took almost no time to exit Sandplain, which allowed them to remain unscathed.”

“How can that be?” Despite Lightford’s wealth of life experience, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Under the misty conditions around Sandplain, even flying would be rather directionless. It should have taken one or two days, getting lost notwithstanding, to navigate to the exit.

But to avoid being afflicted by the toxins in the mists, one had to break free of them in only a handful of hours. Such were the facts.

“How did they manage to break through your encirclement? Did you not notice anything awry? Did they fly in airboats or themselves?” Lightford began to seethe with anger.

He felt that he had lost in a rather inexplicable and pathetic way.

“Maybe… I don’t think they flew out?” The person who replied didn’t sound confident.

“They didn’t fly? Did they walk out with their feet then?” Old Lightford was incensed.

“I hear they swam out!”

They… swam?

Lightford almost coughed up blood. It would take a day or two to swim out in those vast seas, even without the obscuring mists. Considering the haze upon the waters, swimming should have taken a fortnight or more!

Moreover, what about the ferocious sea creatures teeming beneath the surface? Would they have let so much food simply pass them by?

Lightford didn’t know what to say. If he didn’t need as many subordinates as he could get, he would have swatted both fools before him into oblivion. Only then would his rage be satiated.

“Alright, I won’t press too much about Sandplain. Tell me, what happened at the Eternal Sacred Land? Did all ten sacred lands go there immediately after leaving Sandplain?” This was the old man’s next concern.

“Milord,” someone reported from below, “our scouts don’t report any large-scale movement of sacred land cultivators toward Eternal. There’s no reason we wouldn’t notice something so obvious.”

“Then how did my enforcers die?” Old Lightford was almost delirious. He realized now that conquering Myriad Abyss was a somewhat more difficult task than he’d surmised. A group of gods wasn’t all that was needed to pull off such a feat.

Yes, these gods were capable individually, but they lacked discipline and motivation to band together. Moreover, many of them were subordinate to him only out of fear and greed.

Everyone was shocked to hear the enforcers’ deaths and grew restless.

It was common knowledge that the two cultivators had been Lightford’s favorites. Back in the Boundless Prison, they had served as his most able muscle.

Was it true? Had they really died?

Lightford’s expression waxed sinister. “Call everyone available at headquarters together. I’m going to make a personal trip to the Eternal Sacred Land.”

His fury was palpable. No one dared defy him; all present jumped into action. Though not many people were available for the operation, Lightford provided more than enough reassurance at the helm.

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