The north wind whipped sand and gravel against the mottled walls of Canglang City, making a rustling sound like countless tiny ghosts gnawing away at the stone.
Atop the battlements, the pitch-black battle flags of the Northern Suppression Army snapped furiously against the lead-gray sky. Pulled taut by the gale, the banners exuded a tragic, unyielding heroism of fighting to the death.
The air was thick with a pungent mixture of rust, sweat, and cheap grease, heavy enough to suffocate a man.
Chapter 148