Sun Tzu once said: "The momentum of one skilled in battle is like a round boulder rolling down a mountain a thousand fathoms high." In other words, a skilled commander made his army's attack as fierce and unstoppable as a massive stone hurtling downhill.
Pan Long's situation was exactly as that ancient sage had described.
His body was both heavy and solid, far more fearsome than any boulder. The hill was high and steep, and the slope nearest their defensive position was perhaps more than sixty degrees—practically a precipice.
Pan Long's charge was even fiercer than a boulder rolling down from the summit.
With a thunderous boom, he slammed into a Slavic soldier holding a shield.
The soldier was dressed differently from the others, probably because he was a captain. He was enormously built, with arms perhaps thicker than most people's legs. His shield was thick and heavy too, almost like a door. He was remarkably skilled: Zion's snipers had fired arrows at him several times already, but he had blocked them all with his shield. Not one of his men had been hurt.
Under his protection, the Slavic soldiers had secured a small patch of ground. They were about to form ranks and cast a combined spell to bombard the Zion operatives' position.
So when Pan Long struck, he chose the captain as his target.
The two collided with a tremendous crash that left the surrounding Slavic soldiers dizzy and seeing stars.
The well-equipped heavy infantry captain, formidable as he was, flew backward as though a heavy truck had hit him head-on. He traced a scarlet arc through the air—unable to withstand the impact, he had spat out who knew how much blood.
A second or two later, he slammed into the rocks in the distance and lay motionless,