At the bottom of those deep pits, sharp bamboo and iron spikes stood upright, glinting with a cold light under the sun, like ferocious fangs.
Warhorses and cavalry were pierced through by these spikes in an instant. In the blink of an eye, men screamed, horses shrieked, the sounds intertwining, shrill beyond compare, like wails rising from Hell itself.
Blood sprayed in all directions, dyeing this patch of land red. Blood-mist filled the air, the stench of gore rushing into the nose, making one almost retch.
At this moment, Shi Feiyang, hiding behind the small fortress, wore a robe as white as snow. His figure was tall and straight, like a towering mountain peak that would never topple. His features were handsome, his skin like mutton-fat white jade, warm and lustrous.
At first glance, he seemed like a frail scholar, his bearing suffused with a cultured elegance.
