A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

On the battlefield, Wei Zhao's white horse charged past Quan Ya Mao but did not continue forward.

Wei Zhao suddenly pulled on the reins!

The white horse reared up on its forelegs, its entire body standing on its hind legs, letting out a deafening neigh.

Just as the horse was lifted into the air, Wei Zhao twisted his waist and hips violently.

His entire upper body spun nearly 180 degrees on horseback, the white wax spear passing under his armpit, its tip tracing an extremely eerie arc—

A counterattack.

Shigeru's curved blade had just missed its target, and his center of gravity was still tilted to the right, leaving him no time to defend.

The tip of the gun was reflected in his single eye.

The tip of the spear flashed briefly in the golden-red light of the morning glow, then disappeared.

It disappeared into his chest.

puff.

The sound was very soft, as soft as a leaf falling into water.

The spear tip pierced through the leather armor, through the ribs, and precisely into the heart.

Shigeru's body remained frozen on the horse's back.

He looked down at the white wax spear in his chest, and the madness, anger, and murderous intent in his single eye receded like the tide.

Instead, there was a profound sense of bewilderment.

We lost?

We lost just like that?

He roamed the grasslands for twenty years, and the Wei people he killed piled up like mountains.

In the end, he'll die at the hands of a sickly fellow who came from a Taoist temple?

A metallic taste filled my mouth. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth and dripped down my chin.

"you……"

Shigeru's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something.

But his throat was full of blood, and he couldn't squeeze out a single complete word.

Wei Zhao drew his spear with a swift and decisive motion, the tip of the spear drawing a spray of blood.

Shigeru's body swayed twice on the horse's back, then crashed to the frozen ground like a dead tree trunk.

Dust rose and then fell.

The single eye was still open, staring intently at the sky above, which was dyed red by the morning glow.

His pupils had begun to dilate, and the last image he saw was the large "Wei" banner fluttering in the wind atop Yanmen Pass.

Shigeru Inuyasha is dead.

Wei Zhao sat on his horse, looking down at the corpse on the ground. Blood from the spear shaft dripped down the wood grain and onto the white horse's mane, a horrifying sight.

I wasn't particularly excited.

He could only think of one thing—how much Killing God Points was this head worth?

There must have been quite a few enemy generals at the commander-in-chief level whom I personally killed.

He turned back and mentally reviewed the action he had just performed.

It's not really a particularly sophisticated move; it's been a common trick in the historical novels I read in my previous life, but its practicality is undeniable.

Shigeru Inuga never expected that someone who "couldn't ride" could perform such a move on horseback.

His physique of 105 is his greatest source of confidence.

Others need to practice a counterattack hundreds of times and have perfect teamwork, but he doesn't.

All he needs is a strong waist, steady hands, and enough strength.

Violent aesthetics.

On the city wall, Su Qingyun was stunned as she watched Quan Ya Mao fall off his horse.

Her lips parted but no sound came out, but the tears that had been welling up in her eyes for so long burst forth without warning, as if that gunshot had pierced something.

She sat on the edge of the battlement, covering her face with her hands, crying and trembling all over.

It wasn't tears of joy, nor was it a feeling of relief or catharsis.

She herself couldn't explain why she was crying.

For Wei Po? For herself? For Chen Yuan? Or for the fact that the huge boulder that had been weighing on her heart for the past two weeks, making it hard for her to breathe, had finally broken?

It has both, but it also seems like neither is quite the same.

All she knew was that Shigeru Inuyasha was dead.

The beast who beheaded her husband was stabbed through the heart by Wei Zhao's spear.

"My husband...did you see that?"

The sound shattered between my fingers and was scattered by the north wind.

The old lady stood beside her.

Hearing Su Qingyun's cries, the old lady did not turn her head, but a slow smile appeared on her lips.

It was a faint, subtle laugh, but it was a genuine smile.

Her left hand, which had been hanging in her sleeve, quietly loosened.

She gently slid a throwing knife, less than three inches long, back into the hidden pouch at her waist.

She had hidden the knife before leaving home today.

She didn't tell anyone.

What if Zhao'er is no match for him? What if Quan Ya Shi's blade really hit a vital spot?

She's an old woman and can't leave the city, but a throwing knife is enough for a distance of three miles.

Her skill with hidden weapons in her youth was no less than that of her deceased husband.

But now it seems she was overthinking it.

The old lady's gaze fell on the figure on the white horse and silver spear below the city wall, her cloudy old eyes flashing with shrewdness.

This child is even stronger than she thought.

It's not just about physical strength, but also about that decisive and ruthless spirit.

If the first shot misses, defend and wait; seize the opening and kill with a single shot. There are no unnecessary movements, no impulsive actions.

This is what a head coach should be like.

None of his nine sons could remain so calm.

The old lady sighed silently and carefully tucked the throwing knife into her hidden pouch.

It's no longer needed.

It won't be needed in the future.

On the other side of the battlefield, Liu Jingshuang's white wax spear was still raised in mid-air.

She saw it.

I saw that counterattack move, and I saw Inuya Shigeru fall off his horse like a broken sack.

He slowly lowered the gun in his hand, and a slight stinging sensation came from the tiger's mouth.

She gripped the gun too tightly just now; her knuckles were turning white.

Huo Qingluan saw it too, standing beside her.

A complex expression appeared on that perpetually icy face.

Whether it was relief or amazement, an unknown light appeared in those clear, cool eyes.

Liu Jingshuang turned her head and looked at Huo Qingluan.

Huo Qingluan also turned her head and met her gaze.

The two women looked at each other for a moment.

They didn't say anything.

Liu Jingshuang reached out and grasped Huo Qingluan's hand.

Huo Qingluan did not dodge; instead, she tightened her grip.

Both hands were trembling. Not from the cold.

They both looked up at the sky above, which was dyed golden red by the morning glow.

My eyes are sore and my throat is tight.

But no tears fell.

They cannot cry. The women of the Wei family cannot cry on the battlefield.

The north wind howled overhead, whipping their armor and hair.

The shouts of battle still echoed in the distance, but at this moment, the world of the two women was briefly quiet.

enough.

Liu Jingshuang loosened her grip and tightened her hand on the white wax spear again.

"There's still work to be done."

Huo Qingluan nodded and mounted her horse.

With a wave of the battle flag, the 50,000 heavily armored soldiers continued their advance.

The news of Inuya Shigeru's death caused an uproar in the Northern Rong army.

The large banner embroidered with a wolf's head was cut down by the infantry of the Wei family army and crashed heavily into a pool of blood.

"The young prince is dead!"

"The young prince has been killed by the Wei people!"

Fear spread like a plague among the Northern Rong army.

The taxi driver, already starving and green with hunger, completely lost his last shred of fighting spirit after losing his leader.

Some threw down their scimitars and knelt in surrender; some tried to break through the heavily armored army's shield wall to escape; some even began to kill each other.

To steal a warhorse that hadn't yet been killed.

But it didn't work.

Ahead lay the crushing force of Liu Jingshuang's 20,000 elite cavalry and 150,000 infantry.

Behind them was Huo Qingluan's iron wall of 50,000 heavily armored troops.

The two massive steel nets tightened ever tighter, pinning down the 500,000 remnants of the Northern Rong army in a bloody battlefield less than ten miles outside Yanmen Pass.

This is no longer a war.

This is a massacre.

Wei Zhao rode on his white horse, his white wax spear relentlessly reaping the lives of the Northern Rong soldiers who knelt and begged for mercy or tried to resist.

Every shot was swift and decisive.

Today, none of them will escape.

As the sun rose higher and higher, the morning glow faded, and the sky brightened.

The shouts of battle outside Yanmen Pass gradually subsided, replaced by groans and the howling of the north wind sweeping across mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

The revenge for the nine sons of the Wei family is half complete.

On the city wall, the old lady leaned on her iron cane, looking down at the frozen earth stained dark red, her withered lips moved slightly.

"Eldest brother, second brother, third brother..."

She read out the names of her nine sons one by one, her voice so low that only she could hear it.

"You see that, don't you?"

The cane slammed heavily on the blue brick.

"I will settle the score for you in the capital as well."