Fang Qingyu stood next to the shattered skull of the mountain demon's remains.
He slowly exhaled a breath laden with the strong scent of blood.
His molten gold eyes calmly swept over Zhang Tiezhu, nodded, but didn't speak.
He knew, of course.
Since that rainy night in Qingjian City, he knew more than anyone else the ferocity of the Life Ghost and the relentless tides.
This experience was earned through countless brushes with death, with flesh, blood, and will.
The battlefield cleanup began swiftly under Zhang Tiezhu's hoarse command.
The soldiers worked silently and efficiently, pairing up as one remained alert for any spatial fluctuations that might reappear from the depths of the ruins, while the other quickly inspected the corpses of the Life Ghosts on the ground to ensure they were completely dead.
Meanwhile, they carefully gathered the remains of their fallen comrades.
