The blood-red sunset, cast like a splash of warm blood, stained the horizon crimson, making the distant mountain ranges appear as if they were submerged in a pool of gore. Shen Mingyue knelt upon the ruins of the ramparts. This once-prosperous frontier town was now nothing but a scene of utter devastation; dark red bloodstains remained congealed upon the shattered bricks and tiles. Her fingertips lightly brushed the blade of her soft sword. The intertwining black and gold patterns shimmered in the twilight like lingering smoke or dried blood. Fragments of enemy flesh still clung to the steel, falling away in dry, rustling flakes as she wiped the blade—each movement a silent testament to the brutal slaughter of the battlefield.
Gu Jinghong stood behind her, his blood-streaked cloak whipped into a frenzy by the cold wind, the sound of the fabric tearing mingling with the howling gale. He gazed at the Dasheng military banners that had been raised once more; though they snapped defiantly in the breeze, they could not mask the scars of the thousand wounds they had endured. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with worry. "Although Yan Yunlie has fled, the Nanzhao witch remains in the shadows. Military suppression alone will hardly secure lasting peace," he said, his voice hoarse and deep, every word seeming to be squeezed from the depths of his throat as if burdened by the echoes of battlefield cries and screams. He crushed an arrowhead beneath his boot, the metallic snap crisp…
Chapter 138