Pursue the Victory and Expand the Gains

A faint crack sounded from the blade.

Chen Wuya did not lower his head to look. He merely tightened his grip. The edge of the broken blade was chipped, like teeth that had bitten through too many hard things, yet it still held—just like him. Blood from his shoulder ran down his arm to his elbow, where the wind dried it into a sticky crust. He stood beside the enemy general's corpse. Before him surged a tide of fleeing men; behind him, the sand still trembled with the lingering aftershocks of the Staggered Formation.

He raised his left hand and wiped his face.

Blood and sand smeared together, leaving a red streak.

Then he lifted his broken blade and pointed it toward the fleeing soldiers.

Three pulses traveled from the blade tip into the ground—brief, forceful, and sharply rhythmic. It was the signal to charge.

"Pursue!"

His voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the windblown sand. Almost at once, the allied soldiers raised their heads, fire bursting in their eyes. Soldiers who had just been gasping for breath and binding wounds sprang to their feet and gripped their weapons; archers who had been holding the line slung their bows and drew their blades, joining the charging ranks; even those not yet healed dragged their injured legs after them. Their morale boiled like scalding water, and the battle intent they had suppressed for so long finally came pouring out.

Chen Wuya did not wait for the troops to finish assembling before stepping forward first. His strides were heavy yet steady, every step propelled by the rebounding force of Misaligned Force, like a lone wolf that had sensed its prey weakening. Bai Zhi rushed in from the flank. The movement tugged at her shoulder wound, and fresh blood seeped out