Dawn came especially cold and clear to the Winsor Kingdom, with thin mist draped like gauze over the vast Golden Ear Plains. Deep within the plains, the Iron Thorns fortress complex, the pride of the Winsor Kingdom, crouched like a giant beast, its thick stone walls gleaming cold and hard in the faint light.
Inside the fortress, the Winsor Knights' heavily armored cavalry were conducting their routine morning drills. Heavy hooves struck the packed earth of the training ground with a sound like muffled thunder. The knights were encased in plate armor forged from refined steel, with only pairs of arrogant eyes visible through the slits in their helmets. They firmly believed that their armor, impervious to blades and spears, and the power of their massed charges were enough to crush any invading enemy.
The fortress commander, a veteran renowned for his steadiness, stood atop a tower, surveying his torrent of steel with satisfaction. He had paid little attention to the scattered reports of enemy activity brought back by scouts the previous night-the main forces of Hua Country should have been tied down by the other kingdoms' armies at that moment.
On this seemingly peaceful morning, the air seemed to freeze over a stretch of low hills along the eastern edge of the plains. There were no thunderous war drums, no blaring horns, only a heart-stopping silence.
Suddenly, an exceedingly faint rustle, like silkworms nibbling mulberry leaves in spring, broke the stillness. A lone man sat on a white horse with a silver spear, his posture straight as a pine. It was none other than Zhao Yun of Changshan. His keen gaze pierced the mist and fixed on the hazy outline of the distant fortress.
Zhao Yun appeared alone on horseback at the far end of the plains, faint blue-white