And farther away, several more pillars of fire rose into the sky like crimson dragons baring their fangs and claws.
Under the crimson dragons' tyrannical might, every soldier of the Great Horned Legion screamed hysterically, running about like headless flies. Some even had bloodshot eyes and lost control of their minds, drawing bloodstained weapons and savagely hacking at comrades who had stood shoulder to shoulder with them in life and death during the day.
Their roars and screams became a surging torrent, flooding Meng Chao's ears even before the chaotic charge reached him, turning his expression as grim as those of the witch doctors.
"Camp panic!"
Meng Chao's scalp and palms went numb together.
Camp panic was the situation that no battlefield commander of the medieval era ever wished to encounter.
Cold-weapon armies of the medieval era had no scientific or effective methods of management. They relied entirely on whips, corporal punishment, and even the threat of death to enforce high-pressure rule.
The psychological pressure soldiers endured during marches and battles was beyond anything modern people could imagine.
It could be said that no matter how simple and kind a commoner might be, after suffering through several medieval wars and crawling through a sea of corpses and blood, even if they survived by sheer luck, they would become demons wearing human skin.
Regardless of whether rising up in rebellion was righteous in itself, this tendency of humans transforming into demons was irreversible.
And when tens or hundreds of thousands of soldiers who were perpetually on edge, accustomed to fields strewn with corpses, and gradually no longer cared about human lives or even their own deaths were gathered together—
It was like stacking powder kegs atop sun-dried straw, then leaving them under the blazing sun.
An explosion was inevitable.
The only