The ink-darkness gradually faded, and the morning star dimmed. The horizon was tinged with pale blue, then flushed orange-yellow. A ray of golden light pierced the clouds, and the sun rose slowly like a red pearl, dyeing the rosy clouds into a splendid brocade.
The handover between night and day, the transition from slumber to waking—peace was replaced by slaughter.
When the sun's edge began to rise slowly, Youyu Gate launched its attack on Wuxiang City.
Tens of millions of bowstrings were drawn into silver arcs in the morning mist. Youyu Gate's army pressed down like black clouds bearing on the border, while the rain of arrows from the city walls had already swept over like a swarm of locusts. Dense sparks flared across one black shield after another, and then they burst apart.
The soldiers in the front ranks toppled like stacks of wheat, while those behind stepped on their comrades' backs and continued the charge. Blood seeped between the scales of their iron armor, joining into dark-red streams across the ground.
By the time the sun climbed over the flying eaves of the city tower, all of Wuxiang City had sunk into a whirlpool of steel and flesh. The surging waves of the charge crashed against the city wall, the clash of armor rumbling like rolling thunder grinding across a wasteland.
In the distance, battle flags still rose and sank amid the human tide. Each time one fell, it stirred an even fiercer roar of killing, as though the entire earth groaned beneath war boots, dyed a chaotic scarlet by arrow rain and blood mist.
The battle had only just begun, yet Youyu Gate's army seemed to have gone mad, launching an attack without regard for the consequences.
Their fierce offensive surged through the arrow rain and climbed