Outside Xiangyang City, on the battlefield, military banners fluttered in the wind, a forest of long spears stood ready, and ten thousand horses galloped. Dense packs of soldiers would cause anyone who saw them to feel a heavy sense of oppression, yet right now, the ones feeling oppressed were conversely these Mongol soldiers.
Among this group of Mongol soldiers, there was a jarring fellow. He was quite simply a single patch of green amidst a myriad of flowers, extremely conspicuous.
That person was entirely clad in iron.
Iron armor, iron arm guards, iron boots.
On his hands, he even wore gloves covered with iron plates.
On his head, he also wore an iron helmet, pressed tightly down against his brow.
There was no faceplate on the helmet, leaving only a pair of eyes as sharp as swords.
What did he look like?
Just what did he look like?
No one could see,
and no one knew.
Not an inch of his entire body was left in a place where other people could see it.
Yet what was certain was that everyone could sense that every single inch of his whole body was filled with the danger of death.
The fellow in the field, dressed in Song dynasty infantry heavy armor, had within these short two quarters of an hour slaughtered the entire Mongol army until their souls froze, until they were terrified, until they fell into despair, breeding a deep-seated sense of dread toward that figure.
He came forth from the city alone on a single horse,
and relying on a single horse pike, he forcefully carved a passage right through the entire million-strong army.
Leaving behind endless slaughter,
he killed his way right before the central commander's tent.
The straight line from Xiangyang City to Temujin,
was red,
it