They were probably going to lose this battle.
Shen Le stared blankly at the giant dragon circling and roaring ahead.
It was old. It was weary. Countless layers of grime had accumulated on its scales, and many places were even damaged. But it was still a dragon.
The one and only giant dragon of this era.
The government troops opposite them were the last lingering radiance of the Han Dynasty—a mixture of the strongest and most battle-hardened men from the Imperial Guard, frontier armies, and local forces.
The famous generals in command, the army's organization and training, and its mid-level and junior officers all maintained a remarkably high standard. That was why they could form military aura like a giant dragon.
As for the Yellow Turban Army's so-called Thirty-Six Canal Commanders—
Shen Le turned to look back at his own camp. It was too close for him to see clearly, yet he could still make out clusters of yellow clouds rolling overhead, utterly unable to gather into one.
Thirty-Six Canal Commanders—"the larger divisions numbering over ten thousand men, the smaller six or seven thousand." Every region, every group, was led by its own Canal Commander.
Aside from sharing faith in the Way of Great Peace and reverence for the Great Worthy Teacher, they had no bonds of life and death, no discipline that ensured orders were obeyed.
Even today alone, Shen Le had dealt with no fewer than ten injuries caused by brawls between different units—
He sighed, shifted a few steps to the side, and continued gazing into the distance. Straining his eyes, he finally made out something amid the yellow clouds:
This cluster vaguely resembled a tiger. That one looked somewhat like a wolf. Another was rather like a wild boar. One faintly bore two curved horns and