High above in the heavens.
Soft white light passed far overhead through the clouds.
Standing in the void, Jiang Yang looked at the Devils who had all fallen to the ground beneath the three tolls of the bell, clutching their ears and howling in pain, and let out a soft breath of relief.
He tossed the great bell in his hand behind him, leaving it floating at his back.
Then Jiang Yang heard the cheers of the Demon Race, roaring like mountains and seas.
Those voices, filled with worship or reverence, spread like a canopy of clouds.
Yet he showed no joy, only sighed softly.
For he saw that far too many bodies of the Demon Race had fallen upon the earth.
In this battle, at least two-thirds of the western army's demons had died, a testament to its brutality.
Still, the western army had not been completely wiped out. That was already the best outcome he could have hoped for.
The Demon Race had divided its forces into three armies to conquer the Devil World.
With his own formidable strength supporting it, the central army Jiang Yang led had advanced like a blade splitting bamboo.
Their progress had been so easy that it was almost unbelievable.
They had swept across ten thousand li, and though they had encountered considerable resistance, it had amounted to little. Not only had the powerful demons survived, but even among the ordinary demons, scarcely any had died.
This situation had put Baize, the wise demon in the army, on his guard.
Baize reported to Jiang Yang that the Devils might have laid an ambush farther ahead, urging him not to advance rashly and to take precautions.
Who could have known that Jiang Yang would be delighted rather than alarmed? He could hardly wait for