A cursory glance revealed at least several hundred thousand corpses here. Tens of thousands alone were twelve-winged archangels. Seeing so many dead twelve-winged archangels with pale golden wings, Lin Qi felt his teeth turn cold.
What kind of war had that ancient divine war been, exactly?
Every corpse lying here belonged to a powerhouse at the level of a god. They had fallen here in obscurity, like the cheapest cannon-fodder soldiers on the Norman Fortress line of defense on the Western Continent. So many god-level powerhouses, so many people—what had that war in the ancient era been started for?
"We know you have questions!" Osmanthus Tree's serene voice rang out. "But you are far too weak right now. You are a child, and the weakest sort of child at that. Your task is not to ponder all this messy nonsense, but to hurry up and recycle them!"
"Though the recoverable proportion is not high, it can still save us a great deal of effort!" Osmanthus Tree sighed softly. "Although the Hall of the Doomsday Apocalypse and Dragon Cliff have yet to recover their strength and cannot manufacture the highest-grade war machines, after recycling these corpses, they can still produce some cannon fodder for the middle and lower ranks."
"For you right now, middle- and lower-grade cannon fodder will barely do!" Osmanthus Tree casually waved one of its roots. "In any case, your enemies are a pack of trash not even fit to be cannon fodder. There are a few too many of them, but... I truly cannot bear to comment on those pitiful pieces of trash."
Lin Qi coughed heavily several times. His enemies were trash not even fit to be cannon fodder? Although Lin Qi knew this was Osmanthus Tree's objective assessment, why did it sound so awkward? Being