A pale light spread across the horizon.
Morning light crept up inch by inch from the far end of the Gobi Desert, bathing the Holy City in a faint gold.
The blood on the ground had yet to dry, and the air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, but the clamor of the battlefield had died away completely.
The surviving Sequence Users began clearing the battlefield in twos and threes.
They moved slowly, not because they were slacking off, but because they were truly exhausted.
Some dragged fierce beast corpses back, only to stop halfway, brace their hands on their knees, and gasp for breath.
Some crouched beside their companions' bodies in prolonged silence before reaching out to close eyes that were still open.
Others did nothing at all, simply sitting on the bloodstained ground with their heads tilted back, gazing at the dawn on the horizon, their eyes red but tearless.
But even more wore smiles.
Being alive mattered more than anything.
The fierce beast corpses were dragged back one by one and piled into small mountains beneath the city walls.
The Sequence Users responsible for the tally wove among the heaps of corpses with paper and pens, recording the numbers and calling them out.
So many third-tier fierce beasts, so many fourth-tier fierce beasts, so many fifth-tier fierce beasts.
When they reached the sixth tier, their voices rose noticeably.
The members of the Hope Convoy were on the battlefield too.
Niu Dagang walked back with his shield over his shoulder. Claw marks and tooth marks covered it, several so deep they had nearly pierced its face.
He himself was in little better shape. A long gash had been torn through the leather armor over his chest, leaving the flesh beneath a bloody mess.
But his