The Spirit Race's meeting hall floated amid dark purple clouds.
The hall itself was a vast dome woven from translucent biological carapaces, its interior spacious enough to accommodate tens of thousands of Sacred Spirits. Beneath the dome, more than a dozen enormous Level 8 Sacred Spirits occupied their respective seats, their tentacles crossing and entwining as they emitted a low psychic resonance.
Over a hundred Level 7 Sacred Spirits surrounded them, resting quietly on the carapace floor like attendants awaiting orders from their superiors. "What do you think of those newcomers?" The presiding King of the Sacred Spirits tapped the edge of his dais with a tentacle, undisguised greed rippling through his psychic fluctuations. "I've read the intelligence on them. Their numbers are indeed enormous. Any world capable of raising a Cannon Fodder Legion like that must have considerable value itself."
"We can make that world our appetizer." Another Level 8 King of the Sacred Spirits took over, spreading his tentacles in excitement. "Before attacking the Central World, we'll seize that world and use its resources to strengthen ourselves. Once we're fully prepared, we'll launch an all-out assault on the Central World." "I'd advise you not to underestimate that world." A King of the Sacred Spirits whose tentacles had all been severed sneered.
Without a doubt, he was the unlucky fellow who had previously tried to invade the Purgatory Sulfur Plane through the enemy's passage, only to be forced to sever his own tentacles.
"You suffered one setback, and now you've turned into such a coward?!" The King of the Sacred Spirits in the seat of honor flicked his tentacles disdainfully.
"According to your own intelligence, they only suppressed you through sheer numbers. Before true strength, they're nothing!"
"Exactly!"
"Hahahaha! You've actually become this much of a coward!"
"Those primitive