What had been a lukewarm exchange of blows suddenly turned savage beyond measure the moment Yang Kai made his abrupt appearance, and Mo Na Ye, Diaro, and the other Ink Clan powerhouses entered the fray.
By now, even the lowliest soldiers on both sides could sense that the tide of battle had grown strange. The apex fighters of the two races seemed to be competing over who could kill faster and who could kill more. Across the battlefield, the death cries of Ink Clan Pseudo Lords and Human Race Eighth-Order masters rang out one after another in an unending chorus.
In terms of sheer killing efficiency, the Ink Clan was unquestionably ahead.
Led personally by two Lords and bolstered by more than a dozen Pseudo Lords, the Ink Clan's killing squad was overwhelmingly powerful. The formations put together by the Eighth-Order masters simply could not withstand them—once a formation broke, the Eighth-Order cultivators within it would be annihilated in short order.
Yang Kai, for all his speed, could only deal with three Pseudo Lords at most in a single assault…
In the span of a single cup of tea, more than twenty Pseudo Lords on the Ink Clan side had already fallen. Yang Kai was drenched head to toe in Ink blood, his murderous intent so dense and grotesque it clung to him like a shroud, making him resemble a God of Slaughter returned from the depths of hell. Every Pseudo Lord on the battlefield shuddered at the sight of him.
But the Human Race had paid a devastating price of its own—over a hundred Eighth-Order masters had been reduced to cold corpses.
It was not until one Ninth-Order after another freed themselves from their opponents and joined the encirclement of the Ink Clan's elite squad that the situation began to stabilize.
Yang Kai had not been killing at random. Every Pseudo Lord he struck was an opponent currently engaged with a Ninth-Order master. Leveraging his spatial abilities, he darted across the battlefield, coordinating with the Human Race Ninth-Orders to eliminate their adversaries one by one.
By the time the last Ninth-Order master swept in from the skies, the Human Race's top combat strength had formed a complete encirclement around the Ink Clan elite squad.
Only then did Mi Jinglun finally allow himself a breath of relief.
In the void, Mi Jinglun, Xiang Shan, Ouyang Lie, Wei Junyang, Xiao Xiao, Wu Qing, Shi Dazhuang, and Tang Tao—eight Ninth-Order masters in all—sealed off the surrounding space. Every Ninth-Order the Human Race currently possessed, save Yang Kai who was still roaming and slaying, Luo Tinghe who was locked in single combat against Mo Yu, and Yang Xue and Wu Kuang who were far away at the Primordial Heavens Grand Restriction, had gathered in one place.
This was the accumulated depth of the Human Race built up over thousands of years. Not especially mighty—not a patch by the heights the Human Race had once reached—yet it was both a sign and a promise of the Human Race's resurgence.
At some point the fierce fighting had died down. The eight Ninth-Orders channeled their auras to lock down the void, ensuring that whichever direction the Ink Clan tried to break through, they would be met with a devastating storm of blows. Still, they did not rush to act. On the surface the Human Race held an overwhelming advantage, but at this level of combat, even a moment's carelessness could bring catastrophic consequences.
Both sides continued probing, searching for an opening.
"You're not going to flee?" Mi Jinglun said with some puzzlement, casting a glance at Mo Na Ye.
Before the Human Race Ninth-Orders had arrived one after another and closed the encirclement, this squad of Ink Clan elites had still had a chance to escape. Yet Mo Na Ye had clearly harbored no such intention, instead allowing the Ninth-Orders to surround them. It baffled Mi Jinglun.
"Flee where?" Mo Na Ye countered with a rhetorical question of his own, shooting Mi Jinglun a sidelong glance. He was plainly the weaker party, yet his attitude was nothing short of defiant.
Mi Jinglun said nothing.
Mo Na Ye continued, "There is one thing I cannot quite figure out. I would appreciate it if Commander Mi could put my mind at ease."
Yang Kai's aura flickered across the battlefield—appearing, vanishing, reappearing—each manifestation bringing certain doom to a varying number of Pseudo Lords. The Ink Clan's elite squad was pinned down, but Yang Kai had free rein to slaughter at will. A little delay didn't seem half bad, Mi Jinglun thought; it would give Yang Kai more time to whittle down the Ink Clan's strength. Aloud he said, "There are actually things in this world that you can't figure out?"
It wasn't entirely a jab. As the supreme commanders of the Human Race and the Ink Clan respectively, Mi Jinglun and Mo Na Ye had been clashing for years—nearly decades—knowing each other's strengths and weaknesses inside and out. Regardless of their racial allegiance, purely as adversaries, Mi Jinglun held Mo Na Ye in high regard.
Mo Na Ye ignored the remark and asked directly, "How did you find out?"
"Find out about what?" Mi Jinglun replied offhandedly, allowing a look of confusion to settle naturally on his face.
Mo Na Ye's gaze did not waver from him. "You disguise your thoughts well, Commander Mi, but Brother Ouyang here does not possess the same talent for concealment. Why play dumb when you already know what I mean?"
Beside them, Ouyang Lie flared up, "What about me!" They were having a conversation—why drag him into it out of nowhere? He was thoroughly displeased.
Mo Na Ye turned his head to look at him. "When I asked that question just now, your expression shifted ever so slightly. That tells me you know exactly what I was asking."
"In the middle of a life-and-death battle, is it a crime that I'm on edge?!" Ouyang Lie roared.