"Why are you standing around? Run!"
Someone beside him yanked Shen Le hard. Before Shen Le could see what was happening, he was dragged into a dead sprint.
As he ran, the sound of hoofbeats swelled behind him, mixed with cries rising and falling: "This way! They're over here!"
"The Jing savages are here! Get over here!"
"Catch them! Don't let them get away! These Jing savages are slippery—once they vanish into the mountains, we'll never catch them!"
The accent of the shouting was extremely strange. Shen Le had to strain his ears to make out what they were saying.
The memories left to him by the chime bells probably belonged to the natives of this time and place, not to the people who had invaded. That was why he could barely understand the other side's speech—but who exactly had come to invade them?
Why were they attacking them?
How strong was the enemy, and how weak were they, that all they could do was yield and flee?
Shen Le ran for his life with the others. He ran along field ridges, across wasteland, and through marshes, until his lungs felt ready to burst. Every breath carried the scent of blood and swamp mud.
As he ran, he looked back at the billowing dust behind them, where a massive force was charging toward them.
They formed up by the river. Some lowered tree trunks to make bridges, while others crossed and continued their charge. Yet some among the fleeing crowd turned back and rushed toward the enemy. "Hold them back!"
"Fight them to the death!"
"Ah—"
A shrill scream rose high into the air. Shen Le looked back from among the fleeing crowd and saw those brave warriors charging forward in rows with furious roars, only to be cut down