The grand witch hunts in Dongyang and elsewhere could be set aside for now.
The Star-Han lands, the Xuzhou battlefield.
After the strange white mist swept over, the hundred-thousand-strong army commanded by the Qing Imperial Court's regent—including its gathered Daoist soldiers and Buddhist soldiers, mercenaries, old and new troops, and conscript armies—without exception fell into panic.
There were many sources of that panic.
The practitioners who appeared and vanished within the white mist like mountain sprites and ghosts. The ghostly wall from which no one could escape, no matter what they tried. The colossal figure that loomed indistinctly at the edge of the mist, seeming like a demon god.
But the greatest terror.
Was still the people beside them.
They did not even need the practitioners to launch organized attacks, tearing them apart.
This so-called hundred-thousand-strong army, a rabble of disorganized troops, had already fallen into panic. The Five Li Mist had no means of disturbing the mind. Even when Lan Yi maliciously irradiated them from the sky with microwaves, making them restless and irritable, ordinary people could overcome that minor interference if they tried.
Yet the panic of those around them, the horror of being dragged into the white mist by practitioners, the backstabbing born of mutual distrust, and the suspicion that their superiors might sell them out as bargaining chips all intensified the collapse of these terrified souls who could not live out a single day in peace.
That was an immortal!
They had actually been bewitched enough to dare oppose an immortal.
What could they do now to win the immortal's forgiveness?
This rabble had been riddled with internal conflicts to begin with, and it had its own hierarchy of contempt.
You call me a Northern barbarian, I call you a Southern coward. You discriminate against and