While Jared led the Wandering Cultivators Alliance toward the Skywolf Tribe, the Tribunal had already launched its attack.
After a single exchange, the camp of the Skywolf Tribe had already been reduced to ruins. The tents had burned down. The wooden palisades had been shoved flat. Blood and corpses lay scattered across the ground.
The air was thick with the stench of char and blood. Heavy smoke rose from the wreckage and smeared the sky gray-black.
The celestials' 3 thousand troops had the camp sealed tight on all sides. Golden holy radiance came in waves, one after another, crashing forward and tearing through the beast race and Ghost Clan defensive lines layer by layer.
Hadrian stood in the heart of the camp, his war axe buried in the ground in front of him, the haft the only thing keeping his body from folding. His left arm was already severed, bound up in strips of cloth and hung from his neck.
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