Immediately afterwards, the General of the Cavalry swiftly withdrew his spear, his body twisting nimbly in the air, and delivered a backhand "Sweeping Through a Thousand Armies".
The gun barrel whistled through the air, like a giant, destructive iron whip, lashing out at its opponent with overwhelming force.
Upon seeing this, the Xuanyuan Kingdom's general instantly leaned back, almost pressed tightly against the horse's back. His precarious posture was as if he were walking on the edge of death, just a hair's breadth away from being struck by the spear.
His warhorse was also startled by the sudden and fierce attack, neighing and thrashing about in panic. But the Xuanyuan general did not panic in the slightest; a look of determination and resolve flashed in his eyes.
Taking advantage of the moment when the General of the Cavalry was exhausted from his old moves and had not yet generated new strength, he suddenly squeezed his legs against the horse's belly, and the warhorse seemed to receive the command to charge, rushing forward like a whirlwind.
At the same time, the commander raised his long sword high, gathering all his strength. The long sword gleamed with a chilling light under the sunlight, and then cleaved down like a world-splitting blade.
The blade whistled, seemingly about to cleave the General of the Cavalry and his horse in two. This strike contained his profound martial arts skills honed over many years on the battlefield, as well as his unwavering determination to fight to the death.
Seeing the situation was not good, the General of the Cavalry was not afraid at all. He pulled hard on the reins, and the warhorse neighed loudly, its front hooves leaving deep marks on the ground before it quickly turned around.
He gripped the spear tightly with both hands, firmly blocking the path of the longsword. With another muffled clang, the two weapons clashed, and for a moment the two were locked in a fierce struggle.
Both sides' warhorses were pacing restlessly in place, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust that enveloped them in a hazy, yellowish mist.
At this moment, their eyes met through the swirling dust, both filled with a burning desire for victory and a sincere respect for their opponent.
They all knew that this confrontation was not only about personal honor and disgrace, but also about the life and death of the two countries and the rise and fall of their morale. At this moment, they were the hope and symbol of the two countries, and no one could back down even a step.
On the other side of the battlefield, arrows flew back and forth like locusts. The archers of the Tianxuan Army, their bronze arms exposed under the scorching sun, had taut muscles and resolute eyes.
Wave after wave of arrows shot into the sky like dark clouds that blotted out the sun, and then fell rapidly like dense raindrops, as if a rain of death was falling from the sky.
Many enemy soldiers were unable to dodge in time and were hit by arrows. Some were pierced through vital organs by sharp arrows on the spot, fell straight down, and died instantly, like puppets whose supports had been removed;
Some were shot in the limbs or torso, groaning in pain as they struggled helplessly on the dusty, blood-soaked ground. Their cries sounded particularly pitiful amidst the chaos of war, like the mournful howls of wounded wild beasts in the wilderness.
Ignoring the threat of enemy arrows, the Tianxuan Army infantrymen continued their valiant advance, shielding their heads with shields as they pressed on.
They advanced step by step toward the Xuanyuan Kingdom's position, each step accompanied by roars and fierce fighting, their momentum like a raging torrent, unstoppable.
As time relentlessly passed, the corpses on the battlefield piled up layer upon layer, growing ever more numerous. Some soldiers clung tightly to each other, never letting go of their weapons until death, as if their lives and weapons had become one.
Some lay prostrate on the scorching earth, several arrows stuck in their backs, like trapped beasts pinned to the ground by the arrows of fate.
Blood flowed freely, staining large swathes of land a glaring red, mingling with the dry soil and emitting a pungent and nauseating stench.
What is truly moving is that neither side's soldiers showed the slightest sign of retreat. They held only one unwavering belief: for victory, and for their families behind them.
At the very front of the Tianxuan Kingdom's camp, Qin Qianluo stood gracefully. A gentle breeze blew, causing her hair to dance freely in the wind.
She paid no heed, her beautiful eyes fixed on every corner of the battlefield, not missing a single detail.
Above the battlefield, the once azure sky was now stained a hazy yellow by the smoke of gunpowder. The pungent and intense stench of blood, like a heavy haze, permeated every inch of the air, making one almost want to vomit.
The sunlight struggled to penetrate the layers of smoke, casting a few weak rays, but it did nothing to dispel the aura of death.
In the distance, the rolling mountains appeared eerie and solemn under the glow of the war, as if silently witnessing this brutal massacre.
The once lush grasslands beneath the city walls have been trampled beyond recognition by countless iron hooves, with mud rolled up, potholes everywhere, and severed limbs and discarded weapons scattered among them.
A gust of wind swept through, stirring up clouds of dust mixed with the stench of blood, creating a suffocating atmosphere. At the edge of the battlefield, a few withered trees stood forlornly.
The tree trunk was struck by stray arrows, leaving it scarred and charred, as if branded by the flames of war. Torn flags and fragments of soldiers' clothing hung from the branches, trembling in the wind and emitting mournful wails, as if lamenting for the departed souls.
The dried-up riverbed lay not far away, now stained red with blood. The clear river water that should have flowed was nowhere to be seen, replaced by pools of dark red bloodstains that shimmered eerily in the sunlight.
The stones on the riverbed were soaked in blood and became slippery. Occasionally, a soldier would slip and fall, only to be instantly engulfed by the surrounding chaos.
Looking at the core area of the battle, dust billowed, obscuring the sky, and the sounds of shouts and clashing weapons mingled together, creating a deafening roar.
The dust kicked up by the horses' hooves formed small sandstorms that raged through the crowd, making the soldiers' figures appear and disappear, adding to the chaos and cruelty of the battlefield.
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