Boom!
The mountain forest was blanketed in ice and snow, yet one area had been cleared into a vast open space. On one side of the clearing stood dozens of rows of wooden dummies woven from dead grass, wood, and vines—nearly ten thousand of them. At a glance, they formed a dark, dense mass that stretched beyond sight.
On the other side stood a group of powerfully built armored soldiers. They wore not iron armor, but lighter leather armor, with a layer of iron mesh woven within it to cover vital areas and protect their weak points.
Every one of them held a firearm as long as an arm. Blades had been fitted beneath the muzzles, for close-quarters combat when their ammunition ran out or when they met the enemy at sword's reach.
Aside from that, the most eye-catching thing about these armored soldiers was the ammunition belts hanging from their bodies.
Two thousand men stood in three ranks. The first rank knelt, the second bent at the waist, and the third stood upright, creating different elevations. This formation provided complete high, middle, and low coverage, allowing all two thousand guns to fire at once.
Each magazine held thirty rounds, meaning they could fire sixty thousand bullets in an extremely short span of time.
In this age, sixty thousand bullets unleashed at once would be nothing less than a crimson storm harvesting lives. No matter how elite an army was, a single exchange would leave it beaten out of its armor and helmets, with no will to fight remaining.
Individual martial prowess, courage, faith, and determination were simply too fragile to withstand an absolute storm of steel.
"Kill!"
Han Qing, once Zhao Cheng's personal guard and now the commander-in-chief of the Peace Camp, roared.
As his voice rang out, all