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The fact that Meng Yue was Lu Yin’s old classmate had once been what the Vastdearth Sect bragged about the most. If Meng Yue did not dare to even step foot onto the battlefield, they would lose any right to mention that connection.
Meng Tianlong let out a heavy breath, seemingly instantly aging ten years. “I’ll go in your place. I’ll die in your place. Is that not enough?”
Meng Yue stared at Meng Tianlong, stunned. He could not remember his father ever speaking to him in such a manner.
“Even if you have to scrape by, even if we end up being treated as a laughingstock, just staying alive is enough,” Meng Tianlong continued to speak. He gazed at his son with an unprecedentedly complex expression.
Meng Yue clenched his fists. “I’m sorry, Father.”
Similar scenes played out across the Outerverse. No one wanted their descendants to join a battlefield in a war between civilizations. Such a place would be a deathtrap. There would be bugs swarming the entire place, and any one could kill a cultivator.
Even individuals like Evenground Palace’s Mu Nichang and the Moke Sword Sect’s Ke Yun would be nothing more than ants on that battlefield.
When the news reached the Innerverse, there was nothing different...
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