Ji Qianqing moved like a vengeful spirit before the Gold-Devouring Ape. Though a tenth its size, her spirit-forged sword left gaping trenches in its flesh with each strike. Yet the broader battle was a slaughter:
Two thousand Taicang defenders already lay dead, their bodies forming macabre barricades. The Scavengers had begun hacking off limbs for later feasting.
From the command tower, Archivist Zhao Qu gripped the railings. "Why hasn't His Majesty summoned the Shadow Army? At this rate—"
Chancellor Lu Yu shook his head. "The Hounds are still too concentrated. We need them dispersed for the shadows to—"
A black-furred Hound General—his armor drenched in Taicang blood—stalked toward Ji Xia and the wounded soldier. With a casual kick, he sent two dead defenders flying like ragdolls.
"Pitiful insects," he rumbled, his voice like grinding bones. "Your 'sacrifice' only seasons our meat." His spiked club whistled toward Ji Xia's skull—
The injured soldier intercepted the blow, his greatsword shattering under the impact. The force splintered his arms, yet he held the General's strike at bay through sheer will.
"Run... sire," he gurgled through a mouthful of blood.
Ji Xia's fingers twitched. "Tell me, General—what makes you strong? Numbers? Savagery?"
The Hound's lips peeled back in a grin—just as three pairs of skeletal hands erupted from the earth, clutching his ankles.
The Shadow Army had come.
Rotting in their rusted black armor, the spectral warriors materialized silently, their hollow eye sockets fixed on the General.
Ji Xia wiped blood from his lips and smiled. "Let's revisit our conversation... from my perspective now."