Zhao Gang stepped forward, clutching a stack of crumpled casualty reports.
His eyes were sunken and bloodshot.
The intense workload, constant strain, sleepless night, and number of deaths made him look utterly exhausted.
"Everyone."
"The casualty figures are in."
Zhao Gang turned to the first page, the paper rustling in the cold wind.
"In this battle, our Allied Army deployed a total of three million troops."
"The Dragons Clan deployed four thousand Dragons and four Seventh-Tier Battle Venerables."
"Killed in action... six hundred and twelve."
The Dragons King let out a low roar that sent loose stones tumbling nearby.
More than six hundred Dragons-for the Dragon Clan, which struggled to reproduce, this was a devastating blow.
Zhao Gang took a deep breath and continued reading.
"The Holy Human Race deployed one million troops and four Seventh Order combatants."
"One hundred and eighty thousand killed in action. The Pope... has fallen."
Ryze abruptly tightened his grip on his Staff, his knuckles turning white and his eyes filled with unrelenting grief.
"The Elves deployed seven hundred thousand troops and four Seventh Order combatants."
"One hundred thousand killed in action."
Ellari lowered her eyes slightly and let out a long sigh.
"The Dwarf Clan deployed six hundred thousand troops and two Seventh Order combatants."
"One hundred and thirty thousand killed in action."
Muradin: "!!!"
The Dwarf King crushed the flask in his hand, liquor mingling with glass shards that pierced his palm.
"One hundred and thirty thousand!" Muradin stared wide-eyed, not blinking for a long time.
"So many..."
A stream of hot tears gradually spilled from his eyes.
So many Dwarves-one hundred and thirty thousand families, more than five hundred thousand households affected.
The blow was anything but small.
"The Half-Orc Clan deployed five hundred thousand troops and six Seventh Order combatants."
"One