Chapter 5049 Ninth Bastion City's Commotion

In the Ninth Bastion City, there was a shady establishment that prided itself on refinement rather than secrecy. It wasn't hidden, nor was it innocent. However, it wasn't disreputable either; quite a lot of big shots visited for its amazing wine and delicacies, and, most importantly, the beauties.

Tonight, the establishment was overflowing.

Silken banners drifted lazily beneath suspended lanterns, their glow softened by formations that turned light into something warm and indulgent. A circular stage of shallow, illusionary water shimmered at the center, where dancers moved like flowing currents. Their anklets chimed and sleeves trailed with a rippling effect, making it a mesmerizing scene.

Attendants drifted between tables, pouring spirit wine that carried faint traces of elemental essence, sometimes sensational, such as imbuing a taste that is as cool as the deep sea, sharp as the wind in a storm, or bitter like refined medicine.

Laughter filled the air, but they weren't one of careless joy.

Every smile the people here displayed was one of measure. The same goes for every toast they made with others because nearly everyone here could decide the fate of the peasant cultivators present in the twelve Bastion Cities.

Those gathered here were not mere individuals but also the powers behind them.

At this moment, a group of men entered the establishment, their faces flushed with excitement. Leading them was a black-robed fatty with hearty laughter.

"Hahaha, lads, tonight, it seems like we'll get to enjoy ourselves- oh, what's this?"

The fatty came to a stop, and his subordinates all crashed into his giant stature in a drunken stupor, making him stumble, but he regained himself and looked around, his facial muscles still quivering as he panned his gaze with an open mouth.

He recognized so many people, quite a few big shots.

There were some luxuriously dressed black-robed people who were clearly from the Abyssal Radiance Empire, which carried the hydra head crest on their robes.

The fatty's eyes widened a fraction more, the drunken haze in them clearing just enough to recognize what kind of gathering this was turning into. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Even his usual boisterous laughter seemed to choke in his throat.

Behind him, his subordinates were still snickering and nudging each other, unaware.

"Boss… why'd you stop…?"

"Move already, you're blocking the way… I need to get to the peak-uh?"

The fatty raised a hand without looking back, and they immediately shut up.

His gaze swept again.

Not far from the Abyssal Radiance Empire's section sat a few austere figures in plain robes, their presence calm yet suffocating. They neither indulged in wine nor spared a glance at the dancers.

The fatty's pupils shrank as he guessed their background.

The Dark Evermore Temple.

Even in a place like this, these bald ascetics looked as though they were meditating in a graveyard.

Further ahead, laughter echoed loudly. A group of broad-shouldered men in layered cloaks leaned back in their seats, cups raised high, their voices rough and unrestrained. Yet the winds around them stirred faintly, responding to their breaths.

The Galehorn Kingdom.

"…" The fatty swallowed hard, wondering what was up with these major powers suddenly appearing in droves.

He shifted his gaze to the other side, where the atmosphere grew strangely quiet. A few figures dressed in deep blue sat with composed expressions, their eyes calm like an endless sea. Even the wine in their cups seemed unnaturally still.

The Stillwater Profound Sect.

"Damn…" He muttered under his breath.

His steps slowed, but he forced himself forward, his large frame squeezing through the crowd as he tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.

Near a column, he spotted a group whose robes fluttered slightly even without wind. Their swords rested beside them, yet their hands never strayed far from the hilts.

The Gale Burial Pavilion.

Their eyes were sharp, dissecting everything.

He instinctively avoided looking at them for too long since they were sword cultivators who were known to be quite aggressive.

A chill crept up his spine as he noticed another presence. A few bald men stood with their eyes half-closed, their feet planted as though rooted into the ground itself. The floor beneath them felt heavier, denser.

The Stone Abyss Monastery.

"Alright, this isn't normal…" His voice came out hoarse.

Then he saw a cluster of purple-haired, crimson-robed cultivators lounging with practiced elegance, their smiles faint yet unsettling. Their fingers tapped lightly against their cups, as if keeping rhythm with something unseen.

The Morvane Family.

The fatty quickly looked away.

On the opposite side, he noticed figures that didn't seem entirely… stable. Their outlines blurred ever so slightly, as if a gust of wind could scatter them.

The Zephyros Family.

At this point, the drunkenness had almost completely left him.

All of these powers possesses Peak Primarchs within their forces, whether it be half-dead Ancestors or active Grand Elders. It was ridiculous for them to be all present here, but his shock didn't come to an end when he took another step forward, but nearly bumped into a tall figure with slit pupils and a faint, feral grin.

The fatty lips twitched as the other party stared at him as though wanting him to apologize, but he knew he was just a lone Level Eight Primarch and someone who shouldn't offend a peak power with a lot of Peak Primarchs.

He gave a light chuckle before gesturing drunkenly, "What's wrong, buddy? Move on."

The fey from the Grayscale Poison Hound Clan snorted coldly before moving past him.

The fatty's gaze flickered again, catching glimpses of even more powerful factions present in the Six-Headed Hydra Upper Realm.

The Deepstorm Shadow Shark Clan.

The Blackcurse Voidfang Eel Clan.

The Silentshade Phantom Wolf Clan.

The fatty sucked in a cold breath as he even saw the elusive Black Halo Obsidian Monarch Spirit Tribe and even the Corrupted Haven Venom Spirit Tribe, which were Heaven-Tier Empyrean Grade Spirits. Although their numbers were extremely low and they had a lot of lesser spirits, they were extremely powerful.

After seeing all this, he quickly calmed down instead.

To his knowledge, these powers were scattered in all twelve cities, so why had they all come to the Ninth Bastion City to enjoy a mere dance from a beautiful proprietress who was also mesmerizing enough to be called an enchantress?

He searched for the star in question and then paid attention to where the gazes of these guests were landing and saw a particular room on the upper floor that was blocked by a curtain wall. He focused his hearing and tried to hear, but felt endangered instead.

Unable to hide his curiosity, he hurriedly pulled someone from the side and asked them.

"Hey, is there a new event here other than the intended one, or is there someone here whom the powers need to pay attention to?"

"Don't you know? They are all here to meet Saint Riyal Mendez."

"A Saint?" The fatty was stunned.

The person who explained smiled proudly before striking away the fatty's hand from his shoulder, before flicking his sleeves.

"Don't you dare touch me casually. Can't you tell I'm also part of the Saint's entourage?"

The fatty's eyes narrowed.

He pondered for a few moments before looking at the person before him with a strange gaze.

"Wait a minute, aren't you Thousand Windblades who were said to have miserably escaped from the clutches of the Divine Emperor of Death? Weren't you the Realm Master of the Verdant Vale Lower Realm?!"

The fatty's voice was loud, but it wasn't too loud underneath the boisterous atmosphere filled with laughter and songs.

However, some people still heard it.

It made that person's expression darken.

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