Clang—
Weapons collided with a deafening crash.
Zhao Feng gripped the 120-jin bronze mace in one hand and swung it in a blur, his martial energy weaving an almost impenetrable Heaven's Net and Earthly Snare.
No matter whether the enemy's attacks came as fast as lightning or in a raging storm, he sat firm in his saddle, both legs clamped tight around his horse's belly.
He looked relaxed on the surface, but inside, alarm bells were ringing.
The bearded general before him was in a class far beyond any of his previous opponents. Speed, strength, and combat experience—he was nearly Zhao Feng's equal in every respect! Taking his head within thirty or forty exchanges, as Zhao Feng had expected, now seemed impossible.
Banners snapped in the wind, and the cold howled.
Yet nobody felt the slightest chill.
Every eye was fixed on the evenly matched battle.
At the heart of the battlefield, sand and dust billowed as martial energy ran rampant.
Shen Tang raised a hand to her brow like a visor. The more she watched, the more she felt something was off. Unfortunately, the few generals she knew were all recovering from their injuries. Captain Yang went without saying—he would never set foot on a battlefield again. Gongshu Wu had yet to regain his former strength, so he was stationed in the rear.
As for the brothers Zhai Le and Zhai Huan—
They had fled Xiaocheng only to be hunted all the way, and had also run into Shao Chong during one of his bouts of madness. They still hadn't fully recovered.
In other words—
She was the only "general" in Shen Tang's army.
Wait, did anyone remember she was a Literary Scholar?
Just then, Gu Chi's words snapped her out of it.
"Bronze maces usually come in pairs,