Life in Blood War Valley was calmer than Lin Qin had imagined.
It wasn't that there were no battles, but that battles came too frequently—so frequently that they became routine. There was a patrol every month, and every patrol inevitably ended in battle. Sometimes the enemy was stronger, sometimes weaker; sometimes they escaped unscathed, sometimes they lost men. Over three years, seventeen members of Lin Qin's squad had been replaced—some had died, and new recruits had filled their places.
The only one who had remained unchanged was Lin Qin.
Three years, thirty-six patrols, thirty-six battles. The number of Seven-Star Fiends he had personally slain had already exceeded ten.
The bounty on him had risen from fifteen drops of Sovereign's Might to twenty-five, and his ranking had climbed from ninth to sixth.
But he knew this could not continue.
Blood War Valley was draining them too severely. The clan's core strength was being worn away bit by bit in this endless attrition. Over three years, the Four Divine Beast Clan had lost forty-seven Six-Star Fiends and nine Seven-Star Fiends. The Eight Great Clans had suffered roughly the same. Both sides were bleeding, both were gritting their teeth and holding on.
Lin Qin was not afraid of death. He simply felt that continuing like this was meaningless. A war of attrition was a contest of reserves, and after being besieged for ten thousand years, the Four Divine Beast Clan's reserves had long been nearly exhausted. If this continued, they would eventually be dragged down.
But he said nothing. He simply continued patrolling, fighting, and surviving. Because he knew that in Blood War Valley, staying alive was the greatest contribution one could make to the clan.
In the fifth year, things changed.
The Eight Great Clans suddenly reduced the number of their patrol