At Zhu Ying's command!
This scene of bloody slaughter unfolded before the Ming soldiers like demons unleashed from hell, tragic and savage.
The north wind howled, sweeping across the grasslands like the cries of ghosts and wolves. Blood splattered, and countless lives were extinguished.
Every Ming soldier had followed Zhu Ying through southern campaigns and northern wars. They were iron-blooded warriors who had fought their way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, through countless brutal battles. Faced with such a bloody scene, not a ripple stirred in their eyes as the long blades in their hands mercilessly harvested the lives of Tatar men taller than a cartwheel.
In but a moment, this Northern Yuan tribe, shattered beneath Zhu Ying's advance, had become a living hell.
Several thousand more heads fell to the ground. Blood flowed in streams, gathering into rivers and winding into the distance, staining the surrounding land a shocking crimson. The stench of blood rose straight into the sky, enough to make one retch.
This sight was naturally cruel and bloody beyond measure!
The Northern Yuan women kneeling on the ground were deathly pale, yet the fires of hatred burned in their eyes as they glared fixedly at the Ming Army, their gazes seeming ready to tear them apart alive.
The young children beside them had flushed red with fear and rage. They too glared furiously alongside their mothers, their tiny bodies trembling with agitation, wishing they could rush forward at once and fight the Ming Army to the death.
However!
The Tatar children were tightly restrained by the adults beside them, held in their mothers' embraces by trembling yet powerful hands.
In that instant.
The seeds of hatred were buried deep within those young hearts. Perhaps that hatred would grow wildly like weeds and