After more than a hundred rounds of bitter fighting, Huang Feihu had been worn down by the prolonged battle. His breathing gradually fell into disorder, and his spearwork was no longer as sharp as it had been at the start.
Qiu Yin seized the opening and abruptly drove his demonic power, the wind from his palm carrying baleful force as it heavily struck Huang Feihu's shoulder armor.
At the same time, Chen Qi, who had been circling along the flank, opened his mouth again. A wisp of yellow qi, condensed to the extreme, tore through the air and shot straight for Huang Feihu's face.
In that hurried instant, Huang Feihu focused his spirit and controlled his qi, barely blocking the devastating blow to his soul, yet he was still invaded by the lingering baleful force of the yellow qi. His soul sank into a daze, his blood and qi churned, blood sprayed from the wound at his shoulder, and piercing pain bored into his heart.
Under this double heavy blow, Huang Feihu could no longer hold on. Forcing down the dizziness and agony, he thrust out with all his might, driving the two men back, then turned his divine ox around and fled in a sorry state back to his own formation.
Their main general was wounded, their veteran commander captured, and the Zhou Army's morale utterly collapsed.
Seeing this, Qiu Yin and Chen Qi immediately urged all the troops within the pass to charge forth in a full assault.
The iron cavalry of Yin Shang surged in like a tide, throwing the Zhou Army's ranks into chaos and cutting down countless men. Broken armor and snapped blades lay everywhere, corpses sprawled in pools of blood. The momentum of consecutive victories from the eastward campaign over the past days was