At that moment, Jiang Ziya had long since lost his former steady bearing.
He forcibly suppressed the panic and despair in his heart, yet the defeat in his eyes could not be hidden; he had not the slightest confidence to resist.
He had no mind to cross swords with Wen Zhong in a battle of tongues. He merely issued orders in a low voice, commanding Yang Jian, Nezha, and the others to leave the camp and form ranks, doing no more than going through the motions.
Xiqi would rather die on the battlefield than bend the knee and surrender to Shang.
Wen Zhong looked at the Xiqi army opposite him, its morale scattered and its spirits low, and his brows furrowed slightly as he calculated in his heart.
With such cowering defeat, hardly anyone would die at all, so how could it create opportunities to be placed on the list?
He had long since made up his mind: he absolutely could not let the Xiqi Chan Sect line easily seize the quotas for God Conferment.
Since the other side insisted on attacking Shang and scheming against the Jie Sect, then he would simply push the boat with the current and personally destroy them, cutting off their path to contend for good fortune.
At the side, the Dragon Clan immortals accompanying the army also looked gloomy and full of displeasure at the sight.
They had entered the game of their own accord, seeking only to be defeated and perish so they could seize the chance to enter the list and gain opportunity. In the end, however, they had to take the initiative to kill and slaughter Xiqi instead. The root and branch had been reversed, completely straying from their original intent.
What kind of logic was that?
The immortals and gods