In the Western continent, Anthony stood amidst the chaotic camp, looking at twenty-eight thousand beastmen lying scattered on the ground, not knowing how to handle the situation. They had just had most of their life force sucked away by the demonic seeds, every single one shriveled leaving only skin and bones, but their chests were still heaving.
Draven ran back and forth between the rows of tents, shouting until his voice was hoarse: "You over there, stop eating. Do you want to die? Is anyone there, quickly stop him!"
Walter sat flat on a rock, opened his spiritual eyes to scan the area once, then closed his eyes again, finally managing to breathe out a sentence: "Clean. All of them are clean. There is not a single one left."
