Lin Du sat atop the head of a magma python, overlooking the battlefield. He watched the match between the Mercenary Army and the monsters. Lin Du's eyes glittered. Lin Du felt no sympathy for the lives of the mercenaries. To Lin Du, whether they were captive soldiers or mercenaries from the volcano, they were either enemies or not friends. For Lin Du, Zhou Shan, the only person who recognized them, had died in the chaos of the battle.
Lin Du sighed with a sense of lamentation, as if seeing through this scene the cruelty of the realm of cultivation and the cheapness of human life, fragile as mustard seeds, worthless.
I didn't know how long the monsters and wild beasts would stop attacking. 90% of the volcano's Mercenary Army practitioners had died. Only a few mercenaries walked away and survived.
