The battlefield below had shifted again. The Fujimori had recovered their footing excellently. Their frontlines now moved in practiced rhythm.
Quinlan, watching from his aura farming position with a gorgeous babe in his hands, looked on with quiet interest as his soul soldiers crashed against that living wall.
When he had sent the first wave in, the Fujimori lost nearly three hundred in the opening exchange. But by the end, they collected themselves. Now, the enemy cut through his troops more efficiently. He doubted they would reach even two hundred kills before being extinguished.
But he didn't mind.
The lesser souls that formed the ranks of his army of the damned were valuable only up to a point. He needed level fifty and above souls to rank his elites to the next stage, to Rank 5. Anything lower merely served as fuel for getting them to Rank 4.
As such, Quinlan did not feel it was a waste to use them up.
Especially because, in a sense, letting them die was maintenance.
