Tens of thousands of warships formed a perfectly square volley formation.
The armored plates at the bows slid aside, and one by one the main cannons, shrouded in ghostly light, extended forth, locking tightly on the Five Finger Mountain ahead.
Linghu Qingqing, clad in heavy armor with her hands behind her back, stood calmly at the prow of a massive ship, watching steadily as hundreds of turtle-shell boats sped forward.
In front of these turtle-shell boats, arranged side by side in neat rows, countless mighty roc birds surrounded by thunder flapped into the sky, screeching as they fled in all directions.
It wasn’t just because their clan had suffered heavy casualties earlier, nor simply due to the intimidating formation of tens of thousands of warships; the rocs also sensed terrifying auras within the fleet—mortal threats looming right before them.
Even here in the wild northern frontier, among the most savage and brutal native tribes, these roc birds still had the instincts of beasts.
They knew how to seek favorable conditions and avoid calamity.
When facing a natural predator, they used their fastest speed to escape.
The turtle-shell boats moved steadily without the slightest hindrance, heading straight for the base of the Five Finger Peak.