Ignoring her response, she continued muttering, "Too weak… The catastrophe approaches, and you're hardly fit for the task."
"What catastrophe? Is it a disaster from devils, or something brought on by human cultivators themselves? Perhaps the calamity of mortality—the fall of the strong when they can't ascend or achieve longevity?" she asked, one question after another.
The old lady's expression remained unchanged, as if she were invisible.
"If you won't answer, I'll just leave," Amalia said resolutely, turning to walk away.
"You can't leave," she finally replied.
"I've guarded this place for tens of thousands of years. You're only the second human cultivator to enter here. If you can't comprehend the Path of Chaos, this place will never let you go." The old lady smirked—a grim, unnatural expression, as though it had been millennia since the last time she smiled.