Corpses littered the ground in various forms—some blasted to pieces, others shattered after being frozen into ice sculptures, some dissolved beyond recognition by acid, and others pierced by arrows, pinned to the earth... Many corpses even retained the futile resistance or desperate fleeing posture from when they were alive.
The air was chaotic and turbid, a mixture of smoke, evaporated blood qi, scorched flesh, acid decay, the chill left behind by the Frost Giant Dragon, and the scent of death.
The stench was unbearably foul; each breath felt like inhaling scorching sand, like countless cold blades sliding down the throat.
The battlefield was strewn with many beastman corpses, yet not as many as the Old Beast Monarch had imagined. The enemy's corpse count was substantial too, with Chimera, Frost Giant Dragon, and Griffin corpses also among the tribe.
"Well done."
