Xilu, the sky like a dome, envelops the wilderness.
The autumn wind is bleak, picking up the white grass from the ground and sending it skyward.
On the vast grassland, immense military camps are neatly distributed across the land, with a basin-sized white orb of light floating above each camp, linking everything.
This is the camp of the soldiers.
A handsome young man stood on the boundless prairie, stretched out his hand, and grasped a piece of the floating white grass tightly, his face contemplative, with nobody knowing what he was pondering at the moment.
A large silver hand suddenly rested on the shoulder of the handsome youth.
"Aksa, Secret Technique of the Myriad Changes, you have already done very well,"
"Of Xilu's thirty-six nations, we have already annihilated eighteen, possessing half the territory. Although there is a minor setback now, it's not your fault."
