Next to the group of guardian cultivators, who had already gradually assembled, were thousands of ordinary people dressed in different clothes but with expressions of panic on their faces, cautiously observing them.
These were ordinary people saved by the cultivators of the guard tower after they had slain the demonic beasts.
Undoubtedly, in the eyes of these survivors of the calamity, the cultivators of the guard tower had become their protective deities.
The sobbing of these ordinary people, their soft whispers, mixed with the constant violent fluctuations of magical combat from all over the city and the intermittent roars of demon beasts, composed a scene of apocalypse.
In just such a brief moment, the atmosphere of desolation and silence pervaded this once thriving prefectural city.
Lu Qingshan's eyes narrowed slightly.
His entire attention was on the ruins.