Carlos pulled out his alchemical telescope for a closer look.
Despite all the time that had passed, nearly two thousand pitch-black military tents remained exactly as they were that fateful night, arranged in perfect order.
Dead silent, radiating the army's killer instinct.
"One tent holds about 10 sleeping Black Sand Soldier monsters. Current tents number roughly two thousand, meaning close to twenty thousand Black Sand Soldiers. What a goldmine of spiritual essence this could be!"
Carlos was pumped.
In his eyes, these grim military tents that ordinary Psionics wouldn't dare go near had all become vast spiritual essence ripe for the picking.
"Plus the Black Sand King—the spiritual essence he'll cough up definitely won't be any less than the One-Eyed Sand Giant!"
Carlos's gaze burned as he looked toward the base of the 'little mountain.'
A towering pitch-black royal tent sat smack dab in the Black Sand army's heart, surrounded by heavy defenses.
