Ten minutes later, the war was over.
Vegetation turned to ash, and the earth drank blood.
In the distance, crows over the grasslands wailed miserably, and even farther away, packs of wolves lay in wait, howling softly; they were waiting to feast on the corpses left on the battlefield.
The moon and stars sank low, and the superpower residual flames became the glory of victory. Many sat on the ground resting in such light, while others gathered corpses, or said their farewells to fallen comrades.
The atmosphere was solemn, both mournful and tinged with a sense of calm.
In such calmness,
the wind, carrying the light, wandered over them.
"Ginger is spicy indeed." Qin Yu, who had been awarded MVP of the battle, pulled his sword out of the heart of an Evil Chosen One, shook off the blood, and sat on a stone. He praised Zhang Que, who was lying on the ground barely breathing, "To play support, we still need an Old Fox. Three seconds to show the tricks."
Zhang Que: "..."
