It had been several thousand years since the Ink Race first invaded the Three Thousand Worlds. Before the appearance of the Heaven and Earth Furnace, humanity had been bottled up in those dozen-odd major domain battlefields. Apart from those battlefields, plus Ling Xiao Domain and the New Domain, nearly every major domain had fallen to the Ink Race.
This had given rise to a persistent and serious problem for humanity.
The problem of cultivation resources. With so few domains under their control, the avenues for obtaining resources were severely limited. The supply from the New Domain alone was nowhere near enough to meet the needs of the entire human race.
During the great migration, the various major Sects and great families, as well as the Caves Heavens and Blessed Lands, had brought out a considerable amount of valuable goods. The Caves Heavens and Blessed Lands in particular, with their accumulations spanning countless millennia, each possessed a staggering fortune.
But after several thousand years of spending without replenishing, the resources carried out during the migration had been nearly exhausted.
This was especially true as the younger generations of humanity rose to prominence. The massive number of Open Heaven Realm cultivators born in the Star Boundary and the Myriad Monster Domain drove demand for resources ever higher, year after year.
In the past, the various human powers had been scattered across different domains in the Three Thousand Worlds, each self-sufficient. That was no longer feasible.
So many years ago, humanity had begun searching for ways to defuse this looming crisis.
When it came to resources, there were only two approaches: reduce expenditure and increase supply.
Reducing expenditure was straightforward — cut costs wherever possible, eliminate unnecessary waste. Even the old rule that permitted small squads to modify their warships had been abolished.
But increasing supply was a headache. In the early years, quite a few roving hunters had made a living raiding Ink Race supply convoys. There were some gains, but the risks were enormous — once an Ink Race powerhouse set their sights on you, survival was unlikely. Most of the Ink Race's current Ink Servants were, in fact, former roving hunters.
Yang Kai himself had periodically visited the rear gate to squeeze the Ink Race for resources, reaping generous harvests. But that was no long-term solution.
Thus, after consulting with Mi Jinglun back in the day, he had organized an interior resource extraction team within humanity's ranks. Led by several veteran Eighth-Order masters and dispatched in secret deep into the Ink Battlefield, their mission was to mine and gather resources.
The team numbered several tens of thousands in total. Their overall cultivation was not especially high, and they were of little use in actual combat, but for resource extraction, that hardly mattered.
The Ink Battlefield was littered with countless dead Universes, rich in materials — a perfect proving ground for their work.
The veteran Eighth-Order masters selected for the task were all past their prime, whether aged and declining or burdened with hidden injuries that kept them from their peak strength. Ouyang Lie had been among them, though Yang Kai had later sent him back to relay word.
Yang Kai had arranged to meet with the team once every hundred years to collect the resources they had mined. For over a thousand years, everything had proceeded smoothly. But after the last rendezvous seven hundred years ago, Yang Kai had not returned until now.
The veteran Eighth-Order masters had been waiting with mounting desperation. Seven hundred years was not particularly long for them, but being stranded far from home with no knowledge of how the war in the Three Thousand Worlds was progressing — that was the real torment. Dark thoughts of despair crept in with troubling frequency.
So when the linen-robed elder sent word, the scattered Eighth-Order masters had appeared at once. Upon learning that Yang Kai had advanced to the Ninth Order, every one of them was overjoyed.
"Junior Brother, you've been gone all these years — were you in seclusion breaking through?" the linen-robed elder asked. It was a perfectly reasonable guess.
"Not exactly." Yang Kai shook his head. "It's a long story."
"No rush, take your time," another Eighth-Order master said quickly, tossing a meditation cushion to Yang Kai as he spoke.
They were eager to learn what had changed in the Three Thousand Worlds over these seven centuries. Yang Kai's visits were rare, and they intended to get every last detail.
Soon everyone was seated, and Yang Kai began recounting humanity's transformations over the years, one matter at a time.
When they heard that the Heaven and Earth Furnace had appeared and shattered the stalemate between humanity and the Ink Race, plunging the world into total war, their faces turned grave in unison.
When they learned that four Ninth-Order cultivators had been born within the Furnace's inner world, they were overcome with elation.
And when they heard that one of those four was Ouyang Lie, the entire group lost their composure.
"That old mutt actually advanced to the Ninth Order?" A white-haired Eighth-Order master's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets, the corners twitching uncontrollably.
"And he's that lucky?" another Eighth-Order master said, practically choking on envy.
The fact was, at the Eighth-Order level, they were all old-timers. After countless millennia of fighting Ink Race powerhouses, earning one merit after another, their hidden injuries had accumulated to the point where advancing to the Ninth Order was beyond hope for the rest of their lives. Even if they made it to the battlefield, they could no longer fight at their peak — unless they were willing to die trying.
Being stationed here to guard the resource extraction team had been something they accepted with good grace.
But then that incident had happened, and Ouyang Lie had been sent back to the Three Thousand Worlds by Yang Kai to deliver a message. Through that twist of fate, the old fool had stumbled into his own Stroke of Fortune.
The group of veterans' moods turned deeply complicated. They felt as though they had missed out on far too much.