Black Banners Crumble, Wind Sweeps the Land; Blood Banners Flutter, Pacifying the Eastern Barbarians

Just as Kumo was consumed by despair and regret, venting his fury like a madman, news of the eastern defensive line's collapse was spreading toward them at breakneck speed.

Before long, a bedraggled figure staggered back with several hundred battered soldiers. It was Hulü, who had been responsible for holding the eastern defensive line.

His armor was already shattered beyond recognition, with plates missing in many places and bleeding wounds exposed beneath. His hair was disheveled, his face and body smeared with blood and dust, and dried blood still clung to the corner of his mouth. The moment he rushed before Kumo, he could no longer hold himself up. With a thud, he dropped to his knees, bracing himself against the ground as he gasped violently.

One of his guards beside him raised bloodshot eyes and cried out hoarsely, "Lord Kumo! The east... the eastern line can't hold any longer!

Those troops aren't human at all! They crossed the river as though walking on level ground. Our arrows couldn't pierce their armor, and in close combat, we had no power to fight back! The brothers... some are dead, some wounded. Only this handful of us managed to escape!"

The four words "eastern line fallen" struck every Donghu soldier's heart like a sledgehammer.

The soldiers, whose morale had already plummeted, completely lost their heads. The color drained from their faces, their limbs went weak, and many simply threw down their weapons before turning and fleeing wildly to the rear.

Panic swept through the entire Donghu camp like floodwaters bursting through a broken dam. Cries, fleeing footsteps, and the clatter of weapons hitting the ground tangled together, creating chaos far worse than when the fire oxen had turned on them.

Kumo's eyes nearly split with rage. He yanked out his curved blade