The battlefield fell silent.
A mixture of steam and acrid smoke hung in the air, damp and choking.
Zhao Quan knelt in the center of it all.
The colossal Titan stood silently behind him, looking down on everything with disdain.
The corpses of Hellhounds were strewn everywhere, their blood forming rivers.
The Royal Griffins had been trampled into paste, identifiable only by their magnificent feathers.
The Holy Hall Crusaders were like expired cans, with blood steadily leaking from the gaps in their Armor.
The rebels had stopped breathing, and the Spiritual Technique on Zhao Chi had been dispelled.
"Zhao Chi... Medicine..."
Zhao Quan was frozen in place, not daring to move an inch.
The blue blood from his body had stopped seeping out, but the longsword was still embedded in him, unremoved.
Zhao Chi knew there was no time to lose.
The nearby enemies had been dealt with for now, but there were still large numbers of them elsewhere, ready to surround them at any moment.
