The setting sun resembled blood, splashing across a battlefield of broken halberds and ruined walls. The battle cries gradually died away, leaving only the crisp clashing of weapons echoing across the wilderness, carrying a near-death shrillness.
Diaochan was barefoot, her skirt hem long since soaked through with mud and blood. Sharp, jagged stones tore at the soles of her feet, leaving bloody footprints on the ground as a bone-deep pain spread upward.
At this moment, her internal Spiritual Power surged along her blood vessels, supporting her as she broke through layers of corpses and rushed toward the thick of the battle.
Chapter 162