This was because what was grinded out of the millstone was only death. As for victory or defeat, that was just an appendage.
Xu Qing silently watched the battlefield.
The sky over the battlefield showed no significant changes in daylight; it remained dim and gloomy as far as the eye could see.
This held true even during the daytime, and at night, the darkness only intensified.
Screams, blood, and anomalous substances were the main theme here. No one knew how long this cruel music would last.
One could imagine how great the sense of oppression would be if this kind of endless slaughter continued.
Under such pressure, what kind of despair would rise?
Xu Qing silently retracted his gaze. He had seen most of the macroscopic details of the battlefield. The killing continued. The various methods of both sides continued to be displayed on the bloody millstone.
Death had already become the norm.
Surviving was a miracle.