Among them, quite a few were people close to Martial Artist Shen Yu, or at least well-known to him and his companions.
From time to time, Shen Yu would hear sighs laced with inexplicable feelings from those around him.
"That looks like Young Hero Shi Shan—even he's turned into such a state."
"That was Golden Fist Xu Jin, who once bested every martial hall in Nanxi City. Now he's died here, just like that."
"Unbreakable Vajra Hao Long, who fought the West Sea Giant Monster barehanded—judging by his condition, he can't last much longer."
"All of these are famed figures from the Earth Martial Sect."
"In the face of this Heavenly Calamity, what difference is there between us so-called top experts and ordinary folk?"
"..."
It was painfully clear: to see these once-renowned masters now in tattered clothes, haggard and withered, shivering from the cold, near death's door, inevitably brought with it a crushing sense of oppression.