Arutai collapses! Is this an army of mortals?

Zhu Di and all the generals behind him stared blankly.

They watched the black army, within the camp of tens of thousands, slice through the second and third bloody alleyways as easily as a red-hot branding iron through butter.

The courage that the Mongol cavalry prided themselves on was crushed to pieces in the face of absolute power.

They broke.

The first to break were the soldiers who had miraculously survived the first wave of the charge.

They threw down their weapons, crying out, and fled desperately out of the camp, wanting only to get further away from those devils from hell.

One person's escape would lead ten.

Ten people fleeing was enough to completely shatter the morale of the entire area.

Panic spread wildly through Arutai's right flank camp like the most virulent plague.

"Devils! They're devils!"

"Run! Run! We can't stop them!"

"Eternal Heaven! Why must you bring down such a punishment!"

The camp of tens of thousands completely lost control under the repeated charges of three thousand men.

The casualties caused by trampling each other were even greater than the direct slaughter inflicted by the Great Snow Dragon Riders.

Zhu Zhanjun reined in his horse and stopped in the center of the camp.

The three thousand Great Snow Dragon Riders behind him also ceased their charge, reforming into a grim, dense square formation.

They did not pursue the fleeing soldiers.

Because their target had never been these small fry.

Zhu Zhanjun's gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield, landing precisely on the Great Ming dragon banner on the mountain valley highlands several miles away.

Beneath the dragon banner, a figure clad in black iron armor, even from this distance, exuded an undeniable aura of dominance that looked down on the world.

"Grandfather..."

Zhu Zhanjun murmured softly, then raised his Horse Spear high.

"All troops! Move towards the dragon banner!"

"Dong! Dong! Dong!"

The ground rumbled again.

The three thousand Great Snow Dragon Riders, ignoring the trembling Mongol soldiers kneeling and begging for mercy beside them, formed a black torrent of steel, slowly advancing towards the highlands where Zhu Di was located.

On

He wanted to curse him, to curse him for being so reckless, for daring to secretly raise a large army.

But the words that came to his lips turned into a choked sob: "It's good that you're back... it's good that you're back..."

This iron-blooded emperor, who had fought battles his entire life without shedding a tear, had his eyes turn completely red at this moment.

Meanwhile, Arutai's Golden Tent, more than ten miles away, had also fallen into a deathly silence.

Arutai, the Tatar Grand Tutor who had dominated Mobei for decades, was currently listening with a livid face as the defeated soldiers who had fled back described, incoherently, everything that had just happened.

"What did you say? Say it again!"

Arutai grabbed the collar of the chiliarch, asking almost roaring.

"Khan... Khan King... the right flank camp... is gone..."

The chiliarch trembled all over: "A black cavalry... appeared out of nowhere... they... they aren't human! They're devils!"

"Nonsense!"

Arutai kicked him to the ground, his eyes bloodshot.

"A camp of thirty thousand men! You say it's gone just like that?"

"Overrun by an army that came from who knows where?"

"Do you take this Khan for a three-year-old child?"