His war sheep were tall and majestic, their iron hooves stomping on the ground like thunder, their steps were steady and slow, and every step seemed to announce the approach of death.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone, the Magic Shield Corps marched straight into the city of Memphis. Wherever they went, all sounds seemed to be covered up, leaving only the sound of their silent iron footsteps.
An Egyptian who looked like an older man among the prisoners could not help but whisper: "The king of Egypt is finished..."
"...This is an army from hell. No one can crawl out alive from their blades."
His voice was not loud, but it was heard by all the prisoners.
People clenched their fists silently, their expressions becoming more solemn.
At this moment, as the cheers gradually grew louder and everyone was eagerly cheering for the Magic Shield Corps, Samar slowly stood up.
Everyone's eyes were on him, waiting for the commander to issue the next order.
However, Samar's expression was surprisingly calm.
"We cannot send the Magic Shield Corps out to fight," he glanced at everyone in the tent, his voice as calm as the cold wind in the desert, "No."
When these words were spoken, everyone was stunned.
The generals opened their eyes wide, unable to believe their ears.
Someone couldn't help but say, "Sir! But now is the time to teach those Egyptians a lesson!"
"That's right!" another person replied, "The Magic Shield Corps has arrived now. They are our last hope! If we don't let them attack, then we..."
Samar raised his hand, stopping any sounds that had yet to be made.
His eyes remained calm, but his tone was a little more bloodthirsty and cold.
"I understand how you feel," he looked around, "but right now, we must not let the Shield Corps attack."
He gritted his teeth so hard that even his jaw made a "cracking" sound.
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