The heavy-armored figure flew up to the sky, bathing in the foreign energy that accompanied his arrival. The energy, unlike the corrosive miasma of the Highland Realm or the chaotic buzz of the insectoids, was cold, orderly and radiated a sense of metallic zeal.
Under the gaze of Liu Zhongzu and the other cultivators, he raised his glaive and roared. A disciplined and resonant battle cry that spoke of training and purpose.
Following that, more figures climbed out of the Anchor's hole. Hundreds of them. They moved with synchronized precision, forming perfect shield walls and phalanxes as if they were a single, well-drilled army.
Each was clad in the same silvery, heavy armor, each wielding a massive, glaive-like polearm. Their steeds, four-legged creatures that looked like a cross between a wolf and a reptile, stood in silent, disciplined ranks behind them.
