"Everyone, calm down!"
A low shout, like a basin of ice water frozen for ten thousand years, exploded mercilessly deep inside the five men's eardrums through precisely controlled vibrations of blood and qi.
That shout even carried a trace of the [Daoist] profession's calming mantra, forcibly suppressing their boiling blood.
All five froze and turned toward Li Xiang, who stood at the front.
Li Xiang had not loosened his grip on the [Ghost-Slaying Blade], but his [Martial Dao Pure Yang] blood and qi, blazing like a sun too brilliant to look upon, were contracting inward at a furious, visible rate.
There was no hot blood in his pitch-black eyes, no fervor, only an unfathomably deep, almost ruthless rationality.
"Captain, you..." Guo Kai panted, staring at Li Xiang in confusion. "Aren't we fighting our way back?"
"Fight? With what?"
Expressionless, Li Xiang looked at Guo Kai, then swept his gaze over Tang Hua'an and Chu Tian. He pointed toward the spatial gateway ahead, now fully open, and the endless Million Ghost Army pouring out like a black mudslide.
"Open your eyes and take a good look at what we're facing."
"Those are millions of regular Netherworld troops. Floating above them are Yama Avatars with Grandmaster-level combat power, wielding the underlying laws of the Netherworld Realm!"
Li Xiang kept his voice extremely low. Every word struck their reason like a heavy hammer.
"There are six of us. Add Brother Yang and Martial Nephew Huang, and we have eight at most. Besides, several of you haven't fully recovered from your injuries, and your reserves have long since been overdrawn."
"Charge in? How? Can hot blood fill your bellies, or can it serve as a shield against the charge and trampling of a million troops?"
"Ten breaths."
Li Xiang raised both hands and crossed