Autumn wilderness, swords and sabers flying everywhere.
The morning sun shines on the various flags on the wasteland, glinting with fierce light.
The bare grassland under the steps of tens of thousands of soldiers is completely gone, trampled into deep pits, looking like countless seashells.
From the sky, this glaring troop resembles ants marching over mountains and ridges.
The sunlight is bright, yet the wilderness holds a somber mood.
A silent and stealthy Evil Qi quietly approaches, chilling like a poisonous snake attacking in the cold night. The faint smell of blood doesn't mask anyone's sense of smell.
The sound of war drums resonates through the wind, each note bold and grand, loudly announcing that a bloody battle is imminent.
Under the command of Commander Wen Zhong, fifty thousand troops at Linhuan Pass march gallantly westward. The soldiers' morale is high, their fighting spirit vigorous, like an unstoppable torrent, leaving a deep mark upon the earth.
