The roar of engines gradually faded beneath the stirring strains of "March of the Big Sword."
Several camouflage-painted buses stopped in a fan formation around the edge of the square, their bodies still coated in dust from the long journey.
Everyone held their breath.
The suicide fighters locked in combat with Azure Alliance members instinctively slowed their movements.
Xu Wenqiang wiped the blood from his face and stared hard at the tightly shut bus doors.
An entrance on this scale, military music this oppressive-could these be special forces from the Eastern Frontier Theater?
Or the legendary Imperial Guard?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five bus doors slowly opened at the same time.
Countless eyes, along with dozens of high-definition cameras, turned as one toward the doorways.
No fully equipped Special Forces Soldiers rushed out.
No Steel Torrent armed with loaded weapons appeared.
The first thing that came into view was a cane.
A Jujube Wood Cane worn to a glossy sheen, its tip wrapped in iron.
Thud!
The cane struck the concrete heavily with a dull sound.
Then a foot in a black cloth shoe stepped out.
An empty trouser leg swayed gently in the night breeze.
An old man with snow-white hair and a face covered in age spots shakily climbed down, bracing himself against the bus door.
He had only one leg, with a crutch tucked beneath his arm. Every step was a struggle, yet each was unwavering.
The entire square fell deathly silent.
Then came the second, the third...
Some of the old men sat in wheelchairs, pushed down by their companions.
Some had empty sleeves fluttering in the wind.
Some were blind in one eye, the socket deeply sunken.
Some had savage knife scars running across their faces, marks left decades ago.
They wore no bulletproof vests or