The blood-red setting sun slowly sank below the horizon, casting a layer of desolation over this war-ravaged land.
The battle against Asura had finally come to an end.
The Demon Sect tyrant who had sought to drag the world into eternal damnation, Wan Renwang, leader of the Ghost King Sect, had also turned to dust in history along with his unrealistic ambitions.
The Wilderness Sacred Hall, the Demon Sect's sacred site that had stood for thousands of years, had been completely reduced to ruins in this earth-shattering calamity.
The Righteous Alliance had claimed the final victory.
Yet upon this land stained red with blood, there were no cheers or celebrations—only exhaustion and sorrow.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning.
The evil miasma formed from Asura's power still shrouded the land, lingering without dispersing.
Li Xiaoyu and Lu Xueqi stood side by side, silently gazing at the hellish scene before them.
There was no joy of victory on their faces, only weariness and heaviness.
Though they had won this battle, the price of victory had been far too tragic.
Several thousand spirited righteous disciples had set foot upon this expedition.
Now, fewer than a third remained standing.
Many familiar faces—fellow disciples who had fought beside them, dear friends who had once laughed and talked with them—had been left forever upon this cold land.
Their blood had dyed this scorched earth red, while their souls wept soundlessly beneath this sky shrouded in evil.
"Let's go home."
Only after a long while did Li Xiaoyu slowly speak, his voice hoarse and weary.
His gaze swept over the surviving disciples silently gathering their companions' remains, their faces filled with numbness and grief.
War was simply this cruel.
It would not spare you merely because you stood on the side