To Drink Wine, and Deeply Drink the Enemy's Blood

On the Three Kingdoms battlefield, a dozen or so breaths before Jiang Dali's voice reached the command headquarters.

The motley army of Song, formed from numerous Black Wind Stronghold players and Eight Desolations disciples, had already launched a fearless nighttime assault against the joint Jin-Liao blockade line.

Wang Xun led the main army in pressing forward to support them, outflanking from both wings and firing flaming arrows as cover.

Over a thousand flaming arrows tore through the night sky with soul-piercing whooshes, streaking across the air in more than a thousand brilliant crimson trails like fireworks. They flew over a distance of more than twenty zhang toward the nearby connected camps of Jin and Liao.

At once, many tents caught fire.

Although the Jin and Liao soldiers had been prepared and suffered no major casualties, the impending battle still caused turmoil to ripple through the camps of both armies.

By the time the mass of Black Wind Stronghold players and Eight Desolations disciples charged to within fifty zhang of the enemy camp, they had already fired three volleys totaling several thousand flaming arrows, setting the camps ablaze and sending thick smoke soaring into the sky.

Many Jin and Liao players mixed among the soldiers of the two states felt their hearts turn cold as they watched the Black Wind Stronghold Master appear on the battlefield ahead, seated atop a tall horse and surrounded by his entourage.

The Black Wind Stronghold Master was personally leading his troops again. If such a supreme expert were allowed to charge into the camp, a single sweep of his dozen-zhang blade aura would force the three armies back. Who could stop him?

Though it was widely said in the military that no matter how powerful a martial arts expert was, once they fell into a