On the Northern Front's tower ship, Star-Moon Sacred Venerate's expression changed for the first time. "Impossible!"
The Blood Race had besieged Crimson Blood Sacred Land many times. Through battle after battle against the Human Race, they had long become familiar with the Human Race's rhythm. Three days marked a dividing line—the beginning of the Human Race's weakening defenses. This had been proven repeatedly in past wars.
But why this time...
No matter how unmoved he had been by the deaths of those cannon fodder, his expression now twisted with ferocity.
The earlier deaths of the cannon fodder had all been necessary and worthwhile. Their deaths had worn down the Human Race's strength and paved the way for those who followed to strike back. But this sudden change was something none of the Blood Race had anticipated.
From this alone, the Blood Race under his command had suffered tens of thousands of casualties.
Since when had the Human Race become so tough?
His hand gripped the railing with such force that he crushed it to pieces.
In an instant, Star-Moon Sacred Venerate fell into a dilemma.
Only two paths lay before him. One was to order a retreat, but then the efforts and sacrifices of the past three days would all go down the drain, losing all meaning.
The second was to keep pressing forward, gambling that the Human Race's counterattack could not last long, that this burst of strength was merely an accident. If he won the bet, destroying Crimson Blood Sacred Land was within reach. If he lost, then few of the hundreds of thousands of Blood Race troops he had brought would likely survive.
There was not much time for deliberation on the battlefield. With a savage expression, he shouted, "Continue!"
He chose the second path!
Though he