In Hetu Prefecture, above the prefectural city, Wu Tie stood on a patch of white clouds, gazing toward the southwest.
The main force of the rebel army of Hetu Prefecture knelt tremblingly out in the fields outside the city.
One by one, they watched their rebel commanders beheaded and displayed for all to see.
Bloody heads were impaled atop tall flagpoles, fresh blood trickling down the smooth shafts.
The blood-red poles gleamed fiercely under the sunlight, dazzling the eyes.
Wu Tie’s attention, however, was not on the rebels below.
Rebels were after all just rebels—limited in power, with fragile fighting will.
At the end of the day, they were nothing but pawns being used.
But from the southwest, murderous energy filled the air.
With his current level of cultivation and understanding, Wu Tie could clearly sense a terrifying killing intent coming from that direction.
Even more, he could feel countless restless souls wailing and struggling in the void.
High up in the vast firmament, Wu Tie faintly perceived several enormous, turbulent invisible whirlpools raging wildly.
In the southwest, the souls of fallen soldiers and massacred civilians—all the wise beings—were being swallowed by these whirlpools, then sent somewhere unknown.