A thorn bush several stories high stood like a natural barrier across the Wasteland, forming the very first checkpoint for anyone entering its domain.
Inside the thicket, paths were virtually non-existent. The only routes were trails of blood forged by the sheer willpower of those who had ventured into the Wasteland before, flanked all along the way by gleaming white bones and the deep, fathomless chill of the Nether, leading to unknown destinations.
At this moment, a howling ghostly wind seemed to rage, carrying a sinister, spine-chilling cold that pierced straight through the seven apertures. Ordinary mortals, with their frail bones, could never withstand such biting Yin frost.
For a grandfather and his grandchild to have lived here for so long was truly no easy feat; one could only say their mortal frames were far out of the ordinary.
Whenever the Wasteland stirred with unusual activity, the grandfather and grandchild would reveal an imperceptible abnormality—their expressions tense, their gazes sharp as they paced the edges of the Wasteland.
Right now, deep within the Wasteland, a giant golden bird standing three to four meters tall glared with furious eyes and roared, flapping its wings and snapping countless vines.
Its gaze burned like torches, restless and enraged. With every step of its massive body, the earth trembled.
Other creatures in the forest scattered at the sight; they possessed the virtue of self-awareness. If they could not afford to provoke such a beast, they could at least afford to stay out of its way.
Yet casualties were inevitable. The enraged giant bird recognized neither kin nor reason, casting all caution aside as it charged straight ahead, seemingly following a scent.
Dust filled the air in the forest, accompanied by unending cries of agony. The dry bones hanging from the thorn bushes rattled and clinked together.
The golden sparrow advanced several hundred meters before coming to a halt. The flames of rage burned in its eyes as it folded its massive, roc-like wings, as if preparing for battle.
"Roar—"
Opposite the golden sparrow, a nether wolf let out a sound. Its emerald-green eyes radiated a hostile menace, seemingly warning the golden sparrow that this was its territory.
The golden sparrow showed not the slightest hint of fear. Both were masters of their own domains, and neither had any reason to cower before the other.
The nether wolf roared, the golden sparrow shrieked; it was tit for tat, and neither was an easy opponent.
At the very height of this tense standoff, the golden sparrow suddenly flared its massive wings, whipping up a violent gale that sent sand and stones flying and shattered the thorns.
In a mere fraction of a second, a barrage of feather-swords rained down, blotting out the sky and stabbing directly at the nether wolf.
With a mighty roar and fangs as sharp as blades, the nether wolf leaped into the air, twisting and dodging mid-flight, thrashing its front paws and kicking with its hind legs as it continuously shifted position.
Just as the barrage of feathers thinned out, the nether wolf seized the opportunity, unleashing an aura as majestic as a mountain that bore down upon the golden sparrow.
The dense thicket of thorns hindered the golden sparrow from performing at its best, making a close-quarters brawl unavoidable.
Conversely, the nether wolf moved with agility; even with a few feather-swords embedded in its body, its speed remained entirely unaffected.
In the blink of an eye, the two demon beasts were locked in fierce combat, creating a commotion fierce enough to shatter mountains and split the earth, leaving the surrounding area in utter chaos and turmoil.
The nether wolf's four paws were as sharp as blades, while the golden sparrow's roc wings, when fanned, unleashed a roar like a furious gale that swept through the entire thicket.
The two combatants were evenly matched, neither able to gain the slightest upper hand.
The lesser demon beasts scattered in all directions, none wishing to become collateral damage in this battle.
Yet not far from where the two demon beasts fought, a single figure was closely observing everything that was happening.
"My apologies to you both, but may you each fare well. From here on, may our paths never cross again in life or death," Li Chunfeng muttered to himself.
He tightened his grip on the silver leopard pelt draped over his shoulders, curled his lips, and blew at the fringe of hair falling across his forehead before limping toward the spot he had scouted out earlier.
Even after living in these thorns for seven years, he still had to tread with the utmost caution, not daring to make the slightest sound for fear of alarming even larger demon beasts.
Not until he caught sight of a path paved with gleaming white bones did he know he was finally about to walk out.