The old Imperial Physician let out an angry roar, and the short saw in his hand began to move back and forth with force.
Snap... snap...
The harsh sound of bones being sawed through, accompanied by desperate shrieks, echoed in every corner of the tent.
Blood, like a fountain, splashed all over the old Imperial Physician.
A moment later, a blood-soaked and mangled thigh was thrown into a wooden basin nearby.
The wounded soldier's screams had already turned into weak twitches, his eyes rolled back, foam bubbling from his mouth, and it was clear he would not survive.
Wei Zhe's body froze in place.
His eyes, which had witnessed mountains of corpses and seas of blood, could not help but contract violently at this moment.
Beside him, a young foot soldier had a huge gash torn across his abdomen, his intestines spilling out.
He did not cry or shout; he simply stared at the top of the tent with a pair of hollow eyes.
A few green-bottle flies crawled over his writhing intestines, laying tiny white eggs.
He seemed to feel nothing.
Wei... Zhe's fists clenched tightly inside the Po Jun Gauntlets.
His knuckles made a crisp, cracking sound.
An irrepressible, icy fury erupted with a deafening boom from the depths of his chest!
This was not a battlefield.
Death on the battlefield was the instant swords and spears bit into flesh.
Yet this place was hell.
It was a living hell of watching one's own body rot, being tortured to death bit by bit amidst endless pain and despair!
Zhang Han followed him in, catching sight of Wei Zhe's statue-like, rigid back and the terrifying murderous intent radiating beneath his black armor—an intent fierce enough to freeze the air itself.
His lips moved, his voice dry.
"General..."
"Seven hundred