Even after Xuanyuan Fortress had reappeared in his sight, Zhang Tie seemed still able to hear the cheers of the Hua Clan legion warriors receiving their new equipment. Those cheers eased the inexplicable guilt in his heart by a little. Perhaps no one knew that Zhang Tie had never liked war, much less watching others die. Whether a person died gloriously or humbly, it was never something worth celebrating to Zhang Tie.
Yet as a knight, as a man, in this damned age, he had no extra choices. The outbreak of the Holy War had given Zhang Tie only two paths: either flee like a coward, find somewhere to hide, and shut himself away from the world, or bury his sorrow and mercy in his heart like a warrior, turn himself into blazing steel, and march toward the battlefield without hesitation—meeting challenge after challenge, crushing the Devil Race who had provoked this war and sought once more to enslave and exterminate mankind into dust. Destroy a little, feel a little better. Destroy them completely, feel completely better.
Because it was wartime, after personally escorting the first batch of equipment to the Helan Mountains ground base, Zhang Tie and the others exchanged few pleasantries. After sharing only a cup of weak wine with the seven legion commanders, before the equipment aboard the airships behind them had even finished being handed over, Zhang Tie's airship had set off again, flying toward the airspace at the junction of the Wei River and the Helan Mountains, where Xuanyuan Fortress stood.
By the time he saw Xuanyuan Fortress again, the sky was already full of stars. Xuanyuan Fortress and the battle forts surrounding it were bathed in starlight.
Zhang Tie's airship was the official vessel of the Theater Quartermaster General, so it could dock directly