Inside the Central Army Main Tent, the atmosphere was even more austere, Immortal Light coiling everywhere, utterly unlike the defeated gloom of days past.
The incomparably spacious military tent had refined iron for its frame and brocade for its canopy. Within, candleflames burned ever bright, immortal mist hung thick, and auspicious light scattered down in specks.
The Golden Immortals and True Persons of the Chan Sect sat in rows to the left and right, sleeves drifting, Dao resonance stern and imposing.
The Buddhas and Venerables of Buddhism stood quietly to one side, Buddha Light drawn inward, their auras deep and heavy.
The immortal gods of the two sects had gathered under one roof. Experts were as numerous as clouds, the scene vast and magnificent, and the tent was filled with a sacred pressure that stood above the mundane world.
There was no longer the slightest trace of the earlier suffocating despondency of defeat in the tent.
Jiang Ziya, seated in the main position, had long since shed the gaunt, dispirited look and withered frown left by consecutive days of military defeat.
At this moment, his complexion was ruddy, his spirit complete and his vitality full. His eyes shone brightly, and his entire body radiated the excitement and soaring vigor of one who had at last met sweet rain after a long drought.
The crushing haze of a bitter defeat and the pressure of failure that had weighed on his heart for days had vanished like smoke and clouds. His brows were filled with certainty and arrogance.
He lifted his gaze and looked into the distance, his eyes piercing the heavy tent curtains to lock from afar onto the direction of the towering Zhaoge City a thousand li away. In their depths was nothing but calm confidence, victory already in hand.