Midmonth.
The setting sun gave way to a starry sky.
The shadowed moon shone bright.
Only pale green flashes could be seen along the throne corridor.
"Yama was very cautious. The ghost cultivators' attacks on the Underworld have been little more than harassment."
Wu Rong pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the long seat, tossing down the battle report in his hand.
He had already valued his opponent as highly as possible and done everything in his power to perfect his arrangements, squeezing the other side's room to survive.
Yet Yama was clearly no fool.
Heavenly timing, favorable terrain, and popular support—three as one.
As more and more troops were transferred away, the Tianyuan front had fully spread out, and the Underworld's internal emptiness was plain for all to see.
"Though I hold the River Diagram and have connected the Gates of Hell, flying between the two places still consumes mana. If this continues, we won't be able to charge into their formation."
Wu Rong's expression was grave, fire turning in his verdant eyes. "The arrow is on the bowstring. It must be loosed."
"Dun Yi."
"This minister is here."
Dun Yi, dressed in ritual robes, stepped out from the shadows of the great hall.
"Recall all the Underworld's great powers."
"Young Master... recalling the great powers is merely a matter of giving the order. But the ghost race is only harassing us now. Once we issue that command, they may launch a massive offensive and destroy our fundamental territory..."
A fierce look crossed Wu Rong's face as he said coldly, "Once I slaughter Yama, however much they swallow, they will have to spit it all back out for me."
"I have already sent a letter to the Nether race."
"Will they help?"
"Once the army