The cold wind of the northwest frontier carried grit that scraped against the earth like millions of tiny, merciless blades. The sand lashed against Gu Jinghong’s dark armor with a rhythmic, snapping sound, like the whispers of the Grim Reaper. He rode his blood-drenched warhorse at a gallop across the wasteland; the dust raised by the horse's hooves hung in the air like an impenetrable black mist. The dark, dried blood on his armor clung to the sand, forming eerie, intricate patterns—each line a testament to the brutal battle he had just survived. Under the sunlight, the crusts of blood shimmered with a strange, unnatural luster, resembling some ancient and mysterious totem.
His eyes, sharp as a falcon’s, were locked onto the Second Prince’s tent in the distance, burning with the fire of vengeance. He gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white and the veins on his hands bulged, as if he would strike down every enemy in his path the very next second. The wind whipped his disheveled hair, revealing his clenched teeth and the dried blood on his face—medals of combat, and proof of his rage.
Outside the tent, the military banner snapped in the gale, a tearing sound like a premonition of the coming storm. The dragon emblem on the fabric twisted and warped in the wind, like a gargantuan beast in its death throes. Gu Jinghong yanked the reins, causing his horse to rear up and paw at the air with a furious, agonized neigh. He vaulted from the saddle, every movement deci…
Chapter 78