At Martial Pacification Army, ten thousand Khitan tribal troops and twenty thousand Jing Prefecture Army soldiers were stationed here. The tribal troops and Jing Prefecture Army held positions roughly comparable to the imperial guards and regional forces of the Song Dynasty.
These thirty thousand troops were scattered across various garrisons, defending the Khitan border alongside forces from other regions.
On such an utterly ordinary night, their border defenses were rapidly collapsing...
The strapping eighteen-year-old looked somewhat different from a Song man. He braced a shield in his left hand, held a ring-pommel saber in his right, and ran swiftly forward.
Ever since becoming a soldier, he had gradually gained the ability to see clearly at night. By the light of the half-moon, he fixed his gaze on a panicked man with Song features rushing toward him. He knew that man was not Song. He was a Han man living within Khitan territory, drafted into the army.
He saw the terror on the man's face and grinned. Without another word, he accelerated, raised his shield before him, and rested the saber in his other hand atop it.
With a bang, he finally collided with the man. The edge of his blade slammed directly into the enemy's neck. He pulled it free with a savage grin, and blood spurted out, splashing all over his face. In this northern autumn night, fresh blood was exceptionally hot.
He could not help but freeze. Was this how Song men had cut down his father back then...?
While he was dazed, a long spear thrust out from beside his waist and drove straight into the abdomen of an enemy moving up to fill the gap. Stopped by the armor, it failed to pierce through. A burly, bearded man rushed past him, gritting his teeth as he