Traveling through the wasteland cultivation world, the spiritual energy is as thin as poison, and the monks are lingering under the claws of the radiation beast.
Lu Zhao woke up with a "Militia Training Manual" and a few potatoes.
While everyone was fighting for a piece of decaying spiritual stone, he silently promoted manure, improved the soil, and built a blast furnace.
The sect fairy scorned: "A mortal is worthy of talking about cultivation?"
The demon giant laughed: "The skills of an ant are a futile struggle."
Until the evil spirits from outside the world come, the endless demonic tide engulfs the world, the immortal weapons collapse, and all dharma is extinct.
In a desperate situation, a towering steel defense line rose behind Lu Zhao, and psychic firearms roared on the assembly line.
His calm voice spread across the battlefield over the radio:
"Notice: The Qingyan Valley Militia Regiment has entered the shooting position."
"Target: Demonic tide ahead. Combat principles: fire coverage, saturation strike."
"Fire."
