Lü Wende was no clueless hothead. As a seasoned veteran of the battlefield, he naturally would not carelessly allow an expert like Song Qingshu to get too close. They were separated by dozens of yards, with plenty of guards between them, yet for some reason, Song Qingshu's words filled him with a sense of impending danger. He hurriedly retreated, as though only the very center of the army could make him feel safe.
Before Song Qingshu had even finished speaking, he charged toward him. The troops under the Lu brothers had fought the Mongol Empire and resisted the Jin Dynasty for years; they were battle-hardened elites. Without waiting for orders, they drew their bows and fired at him.
Watching the rain of arrows blanket his opponent, Lü Wende finally breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how skilled you were, before an army of thousands, you were still just a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
But his smile suddenly froze. He had expected to see his opponent shot full of arrows like a pincushion, yet at the instant the arrows reached him, the man vanished—vanished into thin air. These archers were all battlefield veterans. Their arrows had not flown in just one direction, but had covered the area comprehensively. With Song Qingshu's previous position as the center, arrows densely pierced the ground for several yards in every direction, yet the man himself was nowhere to be seen!
Before Lü Wende could react, a warning surged through him. He hastily rolled sideways off his horse, narrowly avoiding the figure that appeared immediately afterward.
Song Qingshu could not help admiring him. Lü Wende truly deserved to be a famed general who had traded blows with the Mongols. His skill and alertness were genuinely impressive.
By then, the personal guards around the