The north wind swept up yellow sand, and the sky was shrouded in gloom. This was winter in Liang Province.
The earth began to tremble for no apparent reason, sending wisps of dust swirling into the air as pebbles quivered faintly. People felt an inexplicable panic, and even the cattle and sheep grew restless. Then they saw patches of black shadows suddenly emerge in the distance, wrapped in yellow sand. The trembling, the panic, the agitation—all of it now had a cause.
They had appeared out of nowhere, yet it was as if they had always been there.
The cavalry column stretched endlessly into the distance. They wore jet-black scale armor of dark iron, their faces hidden behind ghost-faced visors. Only their eyes were exposed; even the backs of their hands were protected by leather armor reinforced with iron. They were armed from head to toe.
The panicked people finally understood why. Someone had come to attack them.
Many had never experienced such a sight, but they had all heard of it. Only that cavalry force—the one that struck terror into the hearts of the grassland peoples, the demons who harvested lives upon the plains—fought like this.
They hurriedly fled and hurriedly organized a counterattack.
Then those demons charged in, and everyone who dared raise a weapon against them died.
Liao Hua dismounted. With a padded cotton coat and furs beneath his armor for warmth, and cold iron armor layered over it, he looked exceptionally valiant. One hand resting on the treasured sword at his waist, he strode into the finest courtyard in the tribe.
Inside the courtyard, seven or eight men remained, clutching weapons as they made their final desperate stand. Behind them stood frightened women and children. The men wore furious expressions, cursing and spitting vicious insults as