After Mo Kun's inventory, the Xuan Clan's army had only about four hundred thousand left.
This battle.
They had lost nearly two hundred thousand!
Moreover.
The opponent was merely one person.
Lin Fan furrowed his brow tightly, his expression extremely serious and grave, his eyes blazing as he looked at the four hundred thousand troops before him.
To that young man, these people were just like ants, mere trivial numbers.
Killing them was just killing, without needing any psychological burden.
Just like stepping on an ant, not feeling anything, or not knowing at all.
Terrifying.
Truly terrifying.
A single person had made the Xuan Clan's army suffer such heavy losses; if the Heavenly Clan army pressed in, the Xuan Clan would be in dire peril.
The young man proposed three days' time.
Like a countdown, with each passing second, it seemed to bring the Xuan Clan closer to extinction.
After three days, the Xuan Clan would no longer exist.
