Recovery

The people who had retreated into the city collapsed against the city wall, gulping down ragged breaths, every face written full of the relief of surviving a calamity.

Some lowered their heads to look at their still-trembling hands, some closed their eyes and heaved long sighs up at the sky, and some silently wiped the blood from their weapons.

The Wang Family Patriarch knelt beside the city wall, his hand still frozen in the posture of reaching out from moments ago, five fingers stiff in midair, not withdrawn for a long, long time.

His gaze passed through the formation light screen and fell on the land outside the city that had been swallowed by Demonic Beasts.

Where the Zhao Family Patriarch had been standing moments ago, only a few scraps of torn robe and a shocking pool of blood remained. Not even corpse bones had been left behind.

"Brother Zhao..."

The Wang Family Patriarch murmured the name, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

He slowly drew back his hand, lowered his head, and his shoulders trembled faintly.

Several people beside him stepped forward to support him, but he gently pushed them away.

On the city wall, the few Qi Cultivators in charge of the formation hurriedly closed the formation light screen in a flurry.

The instant the final layer of spiritual light closed over the top of the wall, everyone let out a breath of relief.

That thin light screen was now the dividing line between life and death.

Several Fifth Turn Demonic Beasts chased all the way to the foot of the wall. Seeing that the formation had already closed, they let out a burst of unwilling roars.

A pitch-black Demonic Beast covered all over in scales suddenly slammed into the light screen.

With a thunderous boom,