"Boom, boom, boom..."
A rapid roll of muffled drums jolted Yang Ge awake.
He opened his eyes to utter darkness, but heavy, disorderly footsteps sounded all around him, interspersed with distant cries: "The Tartars have crept up on us..."
Better to arrive at the right moment than arrive early!
The thought flashed through his mind. With a casual point of his finger, the oil lamp on the table in the center of the room flared to life, illuminating his face, as calm as still water.
He rose, dressed at an unhurried pace, grabbed the Cold Moon Saber, and pushed through the door before leaping into the air.
Looking down from above, he saw the winding Great Wall divide the deep night into two worlds, one bright and one dark.
Inside the Great Wall lay a world of fire. From the wall southward, Datong soldiers were everywhere, running and shouting with torches held high.
Outside the Great Wall lay an ocean of ink. Masses of men darker than the night surged beneath the dim stars and moon, stretching between heaven and earth like waves on a nighttime sea...
The scorched stench of burning oil, the rank odor of cattle, sheep, and warhorses, footsteps, the scraping and clashing of armor, shouts, wails...
It was like a heroic symphony without a prelude, plunging straight into its climax from the opening note, setting hearts pounding and hot blood surging!
Yang Ge drew a deep breath, his grip on his saber tightening unconsciously. Sensing his mood, the Cold Moon Saber gave a low hum like the growl of a wild beast.
"I just took a careful look around."
Zhang Xuansu appeared soundlessly beside him. "There's no trace of that old monster's presence."
Yang Ge nodded. "As expected!"
What final boss would jump out of his