Deep Forest Witch-Mist Locks the Secluded Hill, Directly Entering Elite Soldiers to Discern the Strong Voice

Armor clanged, hooves shattered the dust, and thirty thousand Blood-Clad Army troops surged toward the entrance to the hills like an unstoppable black torrent.

Yet the sight before them brought this unstoppable cavalry force to an abrupt halt.

The entire range of hills was completely shrouded in gray-black witch-smoke so dense it could not disperse. Fog stretched endlessly, blotting out heaven, earth, sun, and moon like congealed ink. Nothing within could be distinguished as real or false; even howling gusts could not blow away this eerie haze.

From deep within the mist came the faint murmur of obscure incantations, low and drawn-out, carrying an ancient, uncanny dread that sent chills down one's spine.

Meng Tian tightened the reins. His warhorse reared up, let out a long neigh, then landed steadily.

He sat as upright as a sturdy pine, clad in a suit of dark iron heavy armor meticulously forged by the Mohist Pavilion. The armor plates gleamed with a cold sheen beneath the faint light, while an air of battlefield slaughter, tempered through countless wars, hung around him as deep as an abyssal sea.

His heavy gaze fixed upon the mist, his expression calm and unruffled. Only in the depths of his eyes did a sharp glint flash by, keen enough to pierce the haze.

With a raised hand, he pressed his palm downward and ordered in a low voice, "Send scouts ahead to investigate!"

Several scouts moved at once. They swung down from their horses with the agility of hunting leopards, lowered their bodies, and swiftly made for the edge of the mist beneath the cover of the terrain.

They slowed their breathing and focused their minds. Reaching the edge of the haze, they first stopped to observe intently, then bent down and lightly sniffed the fishy, bitter scent