Every skirmish, these low-level ghosts and walking corpses, under the dual massacre of firearms and Daoist skills, melt like snow under the sun, swiftly turning into filthy fragments scattered across the ground.
However, the trouble lies not in how much damage they can cause, but in the very nature of their endless harassment.
In one night, there can be as few as three to five attacks, or as many as over ten.
The soldiers' nerves are constantly taut; just when they lie down and close their eyes, the sharp sound of a whistle rings out again.
Fatigue, like a tidal wave, slowly erodes the army's strength.
Morale is silently worn down amidst repeated curses when being forcibly dragged from their dreams.
The marching speed inevitably slows down.
Greater dilemmas follow one after another—scorched earth tactics!
The Jianmu and the pirates executed it more thoroughly than anticipated.
