The wounds on his body still throbbed faintly. It seemed he would need a few more healing spells before the pain within could be soothed.
Shen Le took a deep breath of air thick with blood and dust, then slowly exhaled along with the exhaustion and pain in his lungs and organs.
He stood outside the city, watching the yellow clouds scatter, watching the last wisp of yellow aura dissolve into the night. At last, he closed his eyes heavily.
There would be many more battles in the Yellow Turban War. Huangfu Song would be reassigned, Lu Zhi would enter the fray, and Sun Jian, Dong Zhuo, Liu, Guan, Zhang, and the others would all take the field.
The battlefields of Changshe, Guangzong, Nanyang, Qing Province, You Province, Xu Province, and countless others—beacons of war blazed everywhere across Huaxia. The scattered Yellow Turban Army had not lost its spirit.
From among them emerged famed generals such as Zhang Yan, Zang Ba, and Guan Hai.
If he wanted fame and achievement in these troubled times, he could have wandered from battlefield to battlefield, trying to latch onto someone powerful early on. But...
Forget it. Forget it...
Shen Le no longer looked toward the battlefield. He dismounted, hugged his horse around the neck to soothe it, fed it a little warm energy, and led it forward step by step.
He carefully avoided the main roads and towns, sustaining himself on wild fruit, small animals, and the occasional abandoned ration he found. Before long, he traded the Yellow Turban armor for ragged clothes picked up along the way, then sold his warhorse for a cheap price.
He blended into the scattered refugees, dressed in rags and wearing a haggard expression. Like countless displaced people struggling to survive in chaotic times, he was utterly