That day, everyone returned to their quarters to rest. Yet each of them tossed and turned, finding it difficult to fall asleep. After all, everything that had happened today had been far too unexpected.
Even though they were innate masters with wills as tough as iron, they still needed time to properly digest it all.
Moreover, Xu Fei, Xiang Qing of the Five Holy Emissaries, and Luo Ning had all been injured by Meng Zhao's peerless martial arts. Their wounds could not be healed in a moment or two; they needed time to quietly lick their wounds.
Meng Zhao summoned He Xin to his command tent, wrote a letter, and instructed him to travel through the night at top speed to Lingwu City. He was to gather the experts of the Lingwu Meng Family and bring them to the Divine Might Army to hold the fort.
For one thing, although Meng Zhao had nominally subdued the entire upper echelon of the Divine Might Army—including the Five Holy Emissaries and the six guards generals, not one missing, all now subject to his command—he seemed to have victory firmly in hand and great power in his grasp.
Yet in the end, he stood alone, and his ties with these people were shallow. He could not trust them completely.
If these people deceived those above while concealing matters below, it would be difficult for him to learn the truth. He might even have his eyes and ears blinded, fall into danger, and not realize it himself. That was why he needed to bring in loyal subordinates he trusted, to serve as his eyes and ears and share his burdens.
For another, the Divine Might Army was now a separate branch of Meng Zhao's forces. It needed to be incorporated into his small power