One day later.
After Zhao Linchuan's day-long rescue efforts, the entire Douluo Continent had been restored to life.
The fields once submerged by the flood had sprouted tender green shoots again, while tiny clusters of shrubs emerged from the forests destroyed by fire.
Even the dried-up riverbeds flowed once more with clear streams, shimmering beneath the sunlight.
The sky was crystal clear, as though it had been washed clean by the flood. It was a vivid, translucent blue that made people want to look at it a little longer.
But numbers were cold, and heavy.
More than ten million people had suffered this unforeseen disaster, while over two million innocent people had died.
When those numbers were laid out on paper, they were merely lines of ink. But for every individual family, they meant people who would never return and voids that could never be filled.
Although Zhao Linchuan had done his utmost to resurrect them, there was nothing he could do for those whose bodies no longer existed.
He could recreate bodies for these ordinary people, but faced with numbers in the tens of thousands, he could only shake his head helplessly.
It was not that he could not do it, but that he could not do so "many."
Though his divine power was growing at an astonishing rate, it was not infinite.
Among those tens of thousands, the majority were from the Star Luo Empire, due to the fallen soul masters from Slaughter City.
Those fallen soul masters could no longer be described merely as "fallen." They should more aptly be called "evil."
No one knew where they had learned the practice of "eating hearts and sucking marrow," using it to increase their strength.
They roamed every corner of the Star Luo Empire like a pack of beasts