Chapter 961 The Election

• Somehow, the Weolcan Chamber of Commerce had secured a device capable of trapping memories in light. Across the massive screen flashed the battle of the Swamp of the Deceased—a maelstrom of steel, spellfire, and torn earth.
• Human cultivators fell by the dozens; elders, cloaked in battered armor, fought on through rivers of their own blood, determined to defend their race's last fragile shard of honor.
• Scene after scene of sacrifice flickered across the towering screen. Each frame dripped with a sorrow so raw it seemed to thicken the very air. Even those who had never laid a hand on a sword felt their lungs lock tight. Fists clenched, throats knotted, and more than a few eyes spilled helpless tears.