The moonlight was like water, and the evening wind blew.
Flames soared at the city gate, and the smell of burning corpses mixed with the smell of blood in the air.
The enemy army surged towards the city gate.
Under the boundless sky, the young general held a long sword and stood in front of the army domineeringly.
The people he brought had long died. The dark brown warhorses fell at his feet, along with the warhorses and the corpses of the enemy troops.
One man holding the fort against ten thousand.
His armor had long been stained red with blood. Some of it belonged to the enemy, while some of it belonged to him.
Bright red blood dripped from the tip of his sword, leaving red marks on the ground. With every step he took, he left a blood-red footprint.
More and more blood gathered on the ground, and his life was rapidly draining away, but he couldn't feel it. There was only killing in his eyes and a voice in his heart.
