The Pig Race Star Island floated alone at one corner of the raging Law River, its glow dim and its former imposing momentum from the expedition nowhere to be seen.
Supported and surrounded by trusted generals such as Tengshi, Liaoyuan, and Panshi, Zhu Ganglie staggered back onto the cold, familiar rock of his own star island.
Only when their feet truly touched this land that carried their race's hopes and former glory did the hearts of the surviving Pig Race powerhouses—suspended for seven days and nights, repeatedly tormented by fear and despair—finally settle somewhat.
A wave of exhaustion and dazed numbness swept over every member of the Pig Race like a tide.
They looked at one another and saw the same bewilderment and lingering fear in their companions' eyes.
That brief half-day battle of attack and defense, along with the seven-day peak confrontation between the Marshal and the Lord of the Wild Race that had shaken the starry river, now felt intensely unreal in retrospect, like some absurd yet terrifying nightmare.
Yet the wounds on their bodies that had not fully healed, the still-sluggish power within them, and the Marshal's shocking injuries to his Great Dao all coldly reminded them—this had all been real.
"We... actually all survived?"
An elder of the Pig Race muttered, his voice dry. He looked around. More than seven hundred comrades had returned, each wounded and disheveled, but all of them had come back whole.
That realization filled his heart with an indescribable, almost extravagant sense of relief.
Yes, they should be grateful—immeasurably grateful!
The Wild Race had not chosen to wipe them out completely.
Had they been the Mount Tai Ghost Race, whose entire race had been annihilated by a single decree from the Lord of the Wild Race and turned into wailing souls