"Then we must become stronger."
With a single hand sweeping over the tearing wound on his shoulder, the twisted flesh knit itself back together, causing a slight sweat to appear on the prairie khan's forehead.
"Stronger, even stronger, only by becoming stronger can we crush those monkeys flipping the tables and press their heads into the chessboard."
Thinking this, the prairie khan, who had treated his injuries, dived swiftly, heading towards the far-off encampment.
When he landed, the form of the golden-winged roc reverted to its thick, fat appearance, which made the leaders in the large tent admire him even more—even just that majestic form soaring through the sky, who could say this khan wasn't a true Celestial God?
But why does this Celestial God's complexion look a bit...
"I'm fine."
Taking the robe handed to him by the guards and draping it over his shoulders, the prairie khan waved towards the south.
"Continue the advance."
