Several days later, the Saint Realm and Grandmaster Realm warriors of the Nether Race who had fled gradually returned to the Nether Race gathering place, the Nether Race Temple.
Nether God sat in the seat of honor within the temple, radiating a chill aura. His face was so dark it seemed ready to drip water as he coldly stared at the subordinates kneeling below.
Before this war with the Frost Race, he had believed they could settle victory and defeat in a single battle and utterly crush the Frost Race.
After all, with such a fine opportunity before him, he naturally had to seize it properly.
The Frost Race had never fought like this before, actually mobilizing the strength of their entire race.
Yet in the end, it was the Nether Race that suffered a crushing defeat and fled in disarray.
In this battle alone, they had left behind five Saint Realm Protectors, along with his messenger, Nether Que.
As for the Grandmaster Realm warriors, countless had been killed or wounded, with one or two hundred missing.
It could be said that the Nether Race's wounds had been piled upon wounds. They no longer had the strength to wage an all-out war against the Frost Race.
From now on, there was a strong chance that the Nether Race would have to act only around their camp, just as the Frost Race had done before.
Everyone kneeling below kept their heads low, not daring to utter a word.
"Ming Gan, I heard you were the first to run?" Nether God asked Ming Gan with a chilling gaze.
"My lord, I have been wronged! I was besieged by the Frost Race warriors and truly could not hold out. If I had not left, my life might have been lost, and I would