"Ziyuan, well done." Jiuyou, exhausted and supported by his senior disciple, had his purple Taoist robe drenched in blood.
"This is what I should do as your disciple," Ziyuan said with a smile, though his heart was bleeding.
Jiuyou truly had no fallback plan. The moment earlier was the perfect opportunity, yet a brief hesitation ruined the chance. All that effort up to now—wasted.
"Summon everyone back."
The Cloud Dispelling Envoy had almost been annihilated. Song Lin collected a hundred Yin merit and hurried back to the Taoist temple.
Along the way, the number of people dwindled significantly. By the time he reached the Dharma Assembly site, the surroundings felt eerily deserted, with less than half the original number remaining.
"The Taoist temple had a total of 156 Taoists, and now only 85 remain. Seventy have perished."
The casualties were grievous—nearly half were gone.
