"Those who submit to me shall prosper; those who resist me shall perish." Temujin had already calmed down after his brief shock. After years of campaigns north and south, what situation had he not seen? Before so many subordinates, he could not show the slightest hint of weakness. "Since Wushuang City chose to surrender, I will naturally treat them well. But if they choose to resist to the bitter end, then they cannot blame me for showing no mercy."
"But you still killed Dugu Yifang." Dugu Qiubai looked at him impassively.
Temujin burst into laughter, his voice filled with arrogance and boldness. "So what? His stubborn refusal to yield was the path to his own death."
Dugu Qiubai said, "In my eyes, this is also the path to your death."
Temujin sneered. "In my camp, it is still uncertain who will kill whom!" With a wave of his hand, the Mongol soldiers who had failed to react earlier were now prepared. They drew their bows and nocked their arrows, and in an instant, a terrifying rain of arrows filled the sky.
Dugu Qiubai remained utterly still. The shadow of that massive sword stood before him, and any arrow that came within three feet of him was either deflected or reduced to dust.
Song Qingshu watched in secret admiration, but he knew very well that any master facing an army's barrage of arrows like this would eventually face an issue of endurance.
Blocking so many arrows consumed a great deal of inner energy. Over time, if recovery could not keep up with expenditure, even a master would be worn to death by the army.
But an army was made of people, not machines. They could not fire arrows without pause. As long as there was even the slightest lull, a master