The march toward their assigned campsite began smoothly enough.

The disciples, though tired from the journey and the trials of the beast tides, walked in tight formation behind the elders. The forest canopy thinned steadily, the dense shadows of the inner marsh forest giving way to open light.

The deeper they went, the more the air shifted from the damp heaviness of swamp mists to a subtle dryness that hinted at the presence of the wide plains they had seen from afar.

When they finally broke through the last stretch of trees, the sight that awaited them froze many in their steps. Before them, spread across the land, was a veritable gathering of sects.

Dozens of camps were already erected across the open fields, their banners rising proudly in the morning air, fluttering in sharp contrast against the still ancient aura of the tomb complex that loomed behind them.

Han Yu narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in the sheer size of the gathering.

Each camp was marked by unique colors, symbols, or formations, carefully staking their claim to a patch of land. Some camps were small, with less than a hundred people gathered around modest arrangements of tents or wooden structures.

These were likely the forward parties, the initial groups sent to prepare for the much larger contingents that were still on their way. The true expedition forces, the ones that would dig deep into the tomb once it opened fully, had not yet arrived.

Even so, the sight was staggering. There had to be hundreds of thousands already here, gathered together in one space.

Han Yu had never seen anything quite like this before.

His entire cultivation life had been confined to the halls and mountains of his sect, with only the occasional mission or local event breaking that rhythm.

He had heard of grand occasions where sects would gather, such as intersect tournaments, alchemy exhibitions, or large-scale lectures hosted by Dao Treading experts. But those events had always been carefully planned, announced years in advance, and marked by formality and layers of decorum.

This was different. This was alive. This was raw.

The gathering before him was a chaotic web of power and politics, sects arriving not because of a shared agreement but because of the lure of an immortal's tomb. No matter the differences in beliefs, morality, or standing, the call of such treasure was irresistible.

As he looked closer, Han Yu realized what made the sight even more unusual.

These were not just the orthodox sects he was accustomed to seeing or hearing about.

Mingled among their ranks were the unorthodox sects, their presence marked by more somber or menacing banners. Some disciples wore robes dyed in strange hues, while others bore tattoos or talismans etched directly onto their flesh.

Their presence radiated a kind of unrestrained energy that immediately contrasted with the disciplined order of the orthodox camps.

Han Yu felt a chill, not unlike the one he had experienced when first looking at the tomb. His eyes tracked the area and he quickly realized there was an unspoken boundary here.

To the east, facing directly toward the grand gate of the mausoleum complex, the sects of the orthodox faction had claimed the northern stretch and part of the eastern side. Their encampments were arranged in relative order, neat lines of tents and pavilions forming semi-formal squares, almost military in precision.

Opposite them, to the south and bleeding into the eastern side, the unorthodox sects had claimed their territory.

Their arrangement was far less uniform, with structures scattered irregularly, some of them forming circles around central totems, fires, or strange statues. Where the orthodox sects radiated discipline, the unorthodox radiated freedom, unpredictability, and menace.

Between them stretched a vast space that no one dared to cross. A two-kilometer stretch of empty land served as a de facto no man's land, barren of tents, disciples, or activity.

Above it shimmered a large translucent barrier that hung in the air like a veil of glass, casting faint ripples whenever the wind stirred. It was not an aggressive barrier, more like a warning line, but its presence was unmistakable. It ensured that the two factions would not "accidentally" bleed into each other's territories.

Han Yu's eyes narrowed again, taking it all in.

He could not help but marvel at the strange state of peace that existed here. In any other situation, a gathering of orthodox and unorthodox sects in such proximity would have already led to conflict.

Yet here, before the tomb of an immortal, both sides were restrained.

He exhaled slowly, almost amused. This was power.

Not individual strength, nor the might of sects, but the sheer weight of history and opportunity pressing down on everyone equally. The tomb's presence alone had forced enemies into a wary truce, at least for now.

Fatty Kui, walking beside him, let out a low whistle. "By the heavens… this is something else. Look at all those sects. I can recognize half their banners just from the lectures back home."

Wu Shuan, on Han Yu's other side, remained more composed, though his eyes betrayed his own amazement. "It seems we were far from the first to arrive. The Crimson Cloud Sect must have been here for weeks already. And look, those tents there belong to the Jade Mirror Temple."

Han Yu nodded slowly, his thoughts turning inward.

This was more than just a gathering. This was a storm waiting to erupt.

The orthodox and unorthodox camps might be separated by barriers and no man's land now, but what would happen once the tomb truly opened?

Once treasure and opportunity were within reach?

It would not remain calm for long.

He shook his head faintly and adjusted his pace to follow the elders. Whatever lay ahead, he would have to keep his head down. Opportunities might come, but so would dangers. And in a gathering like this, one wrong move could draw the eyes of far too many.

As they continued moving toward their designated area near the Crimson Cloud Sect's camp, Han Yu's gaze lingered one last time on the massive crowd. Tens of sects, tens of thousands of disciples and elders, orthodox and unorthodox alike, all waiting.

All hungry.

And all bound together by the looming presence of the immortal tomb.