The name [Fallen Martial Artist] made Lin Mo pause for a moment. The previous four floors spit out crystalline and shadowy creatures that were foreign, with their forms alien and their movements driven by instinct or some otherworldly directive. But 'Fallen Martial Artists'? The name suggested something more human, or at least something that once was.
The [Wizened Old Sage]'s influence sharpened his instincts, urging caution as he watched them step out of the fissures.
Soon, ten figures emerged, their forms shrouded in a haze of foreign energy. As he had expected, these Fallen Martial Artists resembled cultivators. Tattered robes clinging to emaciated frames, their skin pale gray, and their faces obscured by cracked and featureless masks that glowed with an eerie light. Their movements were like zombies. Slow and sluggish. However, he could tell how each of those movements seemingly echoed the disciplined grace of a trained martial artist.
