On a battlefield filled with the thunder of war drums and the fluttering of banners, Song Yunming's roar was like a thunderclap, shaking the hearts of every soldier.
Behind him, a special forces team of 1,500 men, each clad in heavy armor and wielding submachine guns, charged like tigers descending a mountain, whipping their horses and charging towards the Jewish cult's army.
Their eyes gleamed with a fearless light, as if they were divine warriors descending from the heavens, their momentum overwhelming.
Abraham, the Jewish cavalry commander, unusually smiled contemptuously.
His 30,000 cavalrymen were all seasoned warriors who had crawled out of piles of corpses on the battlefield. Their strength was enough to make the cavalry of any other country in the world pale in comparison.
Abraham was full of confidence, as if he could already see the dawn of victory.
Abraham smiled coldly, reached for the longsword at his waist that symbolized divine authority, and pointed it directly at the special forces team led by Song Yunming who were coming towards him.
His voice was like the cold winter wind, icy and piercing: "People of Judah, let us, with God's indomitable will, crush the enemy's bodies, let their people feel the guidance of Judah, charge!"
His words were filled with fervor and confidence, as if the power of God truly made them invincible.
Accompanied by Abraham's brainwashing rhetoric, the 30,000 Jewish cavalrymen seemed to have their inner beasts unleashed. They roared wildly, like enraged wild beasts, their eyes red, brandishing their weapons, and charged forward under Abraham's leadership.
Their hooves pounded the earth, their shouts shook the heavens, as if they wanted to trample the whole world under their feet.
On the battlefield, two forces are about to collide. One is the special forces team led by Song Yunming. Although they are few in number, each of them is an elite among elites. Their eyes shine with determination and resolve, and they have only one belief in their hearts: victory.
The other force was the Jewish cavalry led by Abraham. They were numerous and aggressive, believing themselves to be God's chosen people and invincible.
The two armies are like two surging waves, about to erupt into the most dazzling sparks in a fierce collision.
At this critical moment, Song Yunming suddenly reached into his waistband and drew a pistol with the speed of a cheetah pouncing on its prey. His gaze locked onto Abraham, who was coming towards him, and a resolute look flashed in his eyes.
"Bang!"
A gunshot shattered the clamor of the battlefield, and a bullet flew out of the barrel, like an invitation from the Grim Reaper, striking Abraham directly between the eyebrows.
Abraham's body jerked backward as if pushed by an invisible giant hand, and he fell off his horse, crashing heavily to the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.
The Jewish cavalrymen standing nearby were dumbfounded, their eyes filled with disbelief.
No one expected that the dignified cavalry marshal of the Jewish Church would be killed right at the start of the battle.
This scene was like a bolt from the blue, instantly plunging their morale to rock bottom.
Countless Jewish cavalrymen pulled on their reins and stopped, their movements somewhat flustered, as they dismounted to check on Abraham's condition.
Their faces were filled with fear and unease, like a flock of sheep that had lost their leader, at a loss for what to do.
"Marshal! Marshal!"
A cavalryman knelt beside Abraham, his hand trembling as he checked for breath, only to find no sign of life.
His face turned deathly pale instantly, and his voice trembled with sobs: "The Marshal...he's dead!"
"The marshal is dead, what do we do? What do we do?"
Just as the Judaism cavalry were in chaos, Song Yunming gave the order, his voice like a thunderclap in winter, deafening: "Fire!"
Upon receiving the order, the special forces members moved swiftly, picking up their submachine guns in unison and pulling the triggers without hesitation.
In an instant, gunfire erupted, sweeping across the entire battlefield like a storm.
The cavalrymen who dismounted to inspect Abraham had not yet recovered from their shock when they were riddled with bullets from submachine guns.
The submachine guns were incredibly powerful, their bullets raining down like a dense, deadly storm, easily tearing through the Jewish cavalry's defenses.
The vulnerability and wretchedness of the Jewish cavalry were laid bare at this moment; they were like fallen leaves swept by a raging wind, helpless and desperate.
Their armor seemed so fragile against the bullets from the submachine guns, as if it were made of paper, utterly unable to withstand this deadly attack.
Their figures fell one after another under the impact of bullets, their blood staining the ground red, a scene too gruesome to bear.
On the battlefield, gunshots were like the drumbeats of death, rapid and deadly, instantly pushing the already tense atmosphere to the peak of chaos.
The shouts of soldiers, the neighing of warhorses, and the clanging of metal clashing together created a chaotic and brutal picture of war.
Song Yunming stood at the forefront of the battlefield, his eyes firm and sharp, capturing every change on the battlefield like a falcon.
He knew that this was a crucial moment that would determine the outcome of the battle, and there was no room for error.
His voice was loud and powerful, piercing through the hail of bullets: "Brothers, the time has come! Charge straight at the enemy cavalry corps! We must carve a bloody path through them before their infantry corps reaches the border!"
His words were filled with determination and courage, like the stirring drums of war, inspiring the hearts of every soldier.
Following Song Yunming's order, the special forces members descended like tigers from the mountain, instantly launching a brutal and bloody massacre.
Their movements were swift and precise; every swing of their swords carried a do-or-die determination, and every shot was filled with a thirst for victory.
None of them pitied these shameless enemies, because they knew that these madmen of the Jewish Church were a bunch of stupid fools without any intelligence, a group of hypocritical villains who thought themselves superior, held sacred texts but committed all kinds of killings.
On the battlefield, the two sides' cavalry clashed in close combat, and the battle became extremely fierce.
At this moment, Song Yunming put away his pistol and drew a long knife from his back with his left hand.
His movements were fluid and elegant, like a dancer performing on stage.
His eyes gleamed with a thirst for revenge; he had waited far too long for this day.
He remembered the pain of his right hand being severed last time; that excruciating pain almost drove him to despair.
He even thought he would become a useless person after that. If Chen Zhennan hadn't helped him regain his confidence, he would probably be a good-for-nothing who just loafs around and waits to die by now.
"Now, my battle for rebirth begins!"
Song Yunming brandished his long sword and charged into the enemy ranks. His figure was like a black lightning bolt, weaving through the enemy army.
With each swing of his blade, he took the life of an enemy; with each charge, he threw the enemy ranks into further disarray. His longsword was like the scythe of death, mercilessly reaping lives.
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