Dawn was approaching.
Hundreds of miles outside of Wushuang City, the heavy snow continued to fall.
In the camp of the Ghost King Battalion, the torn-apart carcass of the ancient beast had been buried by the falling snowflakes, and tens of thousands of soldiers without tents huddled around hundreds of bonfires, relying on this insignificant source of warmth to get through the cold night.
At this point, the Ghost King, King Wumeng, and King Qingyu had returned to the military encampment after slaying the three ancient beasts. The Ghost King alone had killed two, while King Wumeng and King Qingyu had teamed up to kill one.
It was precisely because of the icy spiritual power released by these ancient beasts at their deaths that the surrounding temperature dropped even further.
Seeing the dispirited soldiers, each of them shivering in the cold wind with no fighting spirit left, the Ghost King, though filled with rage, also felt extremely helpless.
