This was a massacre.
No, even a massacre could not be this brutally swift.
The vanguard of Feng City's army, its fiercest attackers, was half wiped out in a single exchange. The poor soldiers were still mounted on their warhorses, their faces still carrying a frenzied battle lust. They only felt a stab of pain in their chests, or a sudden, violent pain in some part of their bodies. Then they pitched forward, toppled headfirst to the ground, and were trampled by the warhorses surging up from behind, those horses still unaware of what had happened, until flesh and blood became a puddle of mush.
This was a natural disaster.
A god's curse upon Feng City's army.
Miniature castles as black as ink stood one after another, like tombs where death gods dwelled, ceaselessly firing an uncountable number of spears and short arrows from within.
Before those Feng City soldiers could even charge close, the long spears and sharp arrows had already pierced their bodies or blown their heads apart.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
The sky was filled with black specks.
Clack, clack, clack—
A man's body was pierced by a long spear, then dragged from the saddle by its tremendous force of penetration. The spear continued forward, piercing the chest of a second man, then a third—
"Retreat!"
"Retreat!"
"Run, you bastards—!"
—
High in the air, Lu Tiesheng watched helplessly as the thirty thousand elite troops under his command were shot down piece by piece, as easily as a sickle cutting through leeks. They did not even have the chance to fight the enemy head-on. His face twisted ferociously, his pupils bulging, and he shouted himself hoarse again and again.
"Run! Come back! Fall back—that's the Lu Ban Chariot! That's the Lu Ban Chariot, you bastards!"
But his roars