"Form ranks!"
Zhao Cheng barked, his voice booming like thunder. In an instant, he scattered some of the camp's gloomy, dispirited air.
The veteran soldiers had originally been unruly, and their string of defeats had bred other thoughts in their minds. Yet the imposing momentum Zhao Cheng displayed now made them shudder. For the moment, they could not tell whether he was merely putting on a strong front, or whether he had truly shed his old self after surviving that turn of life and death.
Daoists were inherently touched by the mysterious. Tales of attaining enlightenment overnight had long been widespread, especially within a theocratic army like the Yellow Heaven Army, where Daoists were shrouded in an even thicker aura of legend and mystery.
The Grunts and refugees swept along by the Yellow Heaven Army were one thing—they had followed the rebellion simply because they could no longer survive otherwise. But the hardened soldiers of the Yellow Heaven Army needed more than courage; faith in Yellow Heaven was equally indispensable.
During daily drills, aside from training their strength, everyone was required to recite the doctrines of Yellow Heaven together.
In a sense, this was brainwashing. But for humans, such methods truly worked. If a lie was shouted aloud thousands, even tens of thousands of times, especially by many people together, then given enough time, even those who had never believed it would begin to half-believe it.
In Zhao Cheng's past world, there had been no supernatural manifestations. Those Daoists and monks possessed not the slightest bit of divine power, relying entirely on their mouths to hoodwink people, yet they still convinced quite a few people wholeheartedly.
But in this world, supernatural manifestations were real. Daoists and monks truly possessed extraordinary abilities. Though the laws of the material world were exceptionally