He still remembered how fiercely the Feng Army and Shou Army had fought several years ago. After every battle, corpses had been strewn across the land, with appalling casualties.
But now, times had changed.
While the Feng Army had already completed its rebirth, armed with the finest equipment and tactics in the world, the warlords Inside the Passes were still stuck in the old era of millet and rifles.
From the very beginning, this war had never been a contest on the same level.
"Pass on my orders."
Zhang Xueming flicked away his cigarette butt and spoke to the messenger beside him.
"The entire army will advance at full speed. Our target is the Imperial City."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an irresistible force.
"Yes, sir!"
Five days.
Only five days.
The provinces of Rehe and Chaha had both changed hands in their entirety.
The Steel Flood of the Feng Army's First Army had already reached the border of Jisheng.
Zhang Xueming stood atop a high slope, binoculars in hand, gazing at the winding Liuhe in the distance.
Across the river lay the last line of defense the Shou Army had established—and its strongest.
"Young Marshal, this... they really went all out this time."
A rough voice sounded beside him. The officer under his command, Wang Debiao, lowered his binoculars, his expression somewhat grim.
"This defensive line is tougher than a turtle's shell, isn't it?"
He smacked his lips.
"I just got word. That Old Duan fellow has pulled Old Feng from the Northwest and Yan Laoxi from Shanxi into the fold to defend the Imperial City. Right now, the assorted troops across the Liuhe number a full seventy or eighty thousand."
"Seventy or eighty thousand?"
Zhang Xueming gave a soft laugh and lowered his binoculars.
"Sounds