New Year's Day, ten in the morning.
The overcast sky stubbornly refused to let fall the first snow of the year.
Those who had lived through much would discover one thing: the harder the days, the slower time passed. Every minute, every second, crawled by unbearably slowly.
The mysterious wormhole connecting the sky to another world continued to spew black dots without pause.
Only when they landed could one see that they were ugly monsters.
The citywide evacuation continued. More and more areas had fallen. After massive weapons reinforcements arrived, the monsters were barely contained and prevented from spreading further. Many people could not adapt to the new reality. When spiritual comfort and entertainment became utterly meaningless, reality grew crushingly heavy.
Above the gloomy sky, red-eyed Zhen Bei was still intercepting and killing powerful monsters, stubbornly refusing to retreat.
From the Tang Dynasty onward—through the Song, the Ming, and World War II—Zhen Bei had failed every time.
Nine lives. Nine defeats. Nine times falling in battle with blades and swords upon him.
After witnessing the anguished cries of his fellow countrymen in Chaotic Times nine times, after seeing countless comrades die in the wilderness beyond the borders with his own eyes, each death with eyes that could not close in peace, Zhen Bei developed an obsession with winning. He only wanted to give everything he had to defend this country.
The taste of a nation shattered and a household destroyed truly was unbearable.
He swung his arms until they went numb with soreness, while the monsters' counterattacks battered his entire body with pain, yet Zhen Bei simply refused to leave.
"Charge the enemy formation! Kill!"
With a hoarse roar, he charged alone into the horde of monsters without hesitation.
He stabbed with his spear, chopped with his blade, punched and