The Truce
The war had stopped.
After the bloody battle at Rock Fortress and the ambush at Iron Wall Outpost, the Eight Great Clans had suffered devastating losses. The Barbary Clan alone had lost six Seven-Star Fiends, the Deen Clan had lost three, and the Venner Clan one. Including those Lin Qin had killed earlier, in barely a dozen years, the Eight Great Clans had lost nearly twenty percent of their combat strength in Azure Prefecture.
After Chegwen secretly met with Barbary, they made a difficult decision—an immediate temporary truce.
When the news arrived, Azure Dragon Hall fell silent.
"A truce?" Vladimir frowned, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest of his chair. "They're willing to stop? The Eight Great Clans have always held grudges. That old bastard Barbary lost six Seven-Star Fiends. Can he really swallow that?"
"They have no choice." Gaia's voice was calm, but deep in her eyes was a trace of relief. "News from the front says the Barbary Clan's main branch can no longer spare any Seven-Star Fiends. Of the Deen Clan's three, one was the patriarch's cousin, and two were elders of the Offering Hall. Losing even one would hurt them for a thousand years. That Venner Clan member was the most outstanding genius of their younger generation. Lin Qin cut him down with a single strike, and the Venner patriarch vomited blood on the spot."
She paused, then continued, "More importantly, their core strength is nearly exhausted as well. Thirty-seven Six-Star Fiends have died, and those below Five-Star Fiend are too numerous to count. If they keep fighting, even their foundations will be shaken."
"How long can it last?" Morris asked. He had just rushed over from the intelligence division, still carrying the dust of a long journey.
"I don't know." Gaiseresen finally spoke,