The spear on the back of the Li Qianjun was thrown three out of five, and with each spear thrown, the body of a Yellow Turban cavalryman would be pierced and he would die. These inferior weapons, which look ridiculous and have no sense of violent beauty, are not inferior to those finely polished weapons in terms of killing.

The other soldiers of the death battalion carried two spears and three spears on their backs, and by this time they had already thrown them out. No matter how many spears there are, even if they are a drag for many soldiers, they have an impact, in fact, there are not so many opportunities to throw spears in battle, and in the face of such a high-speed moving class of cavalry, when they draw out their spears and do the action of charging and throwing, the cavalry has already come to the front, and the soldiers of the death battalion have not yet thrown their spears, and they are pierced by the cavalry with the spears in their hands.

This was a lesson in blood, and the soldiers of the death battalion once relied heavily on spear throwing, and with this skill, they threw and killed many enemies before they even engaged the enemy in foot combat. However, in the battle with the Yellow Turbans, they encountered an ambush, and when they drew their spears and threw them in their usual way, the enemy was in front of them.

No matter how many means are used, they are all aimed at shortening the gap between us and the enemy and bringing greater damage to the enemy. But when you pursue it too much, it is undoubtedly a loss of watermelon and a sesame seed, because the most trustworthy thing is always the weapon in your hand!

Leaning over, bowing his head, and rushing forward, the spear swept over the head of the powerful army, and the strong wind stirred up his long hair to fly. The tip of the spear swept in an instant, and the sharp edge of the blade took away a few strands of Li Qianjun's hair, which was cold, making his scalp cold.

Li Qianjun doesn't have a helmet, and he doesn't wear a helmet, in his words, he will die no matter what he should die, and it's the same with or without a helmet.

The machete slashed horizontally, paused when it came into contact with the front hooves of the war horse, but then quickly cut through it, separating the two hooves of the war horse. His face was cold, and he straightened up, and his horse fell in front of him, making a dull thud that shook the dust on the ground.

With a knife in hand, the machete slice open the belly of the Yellow Turban Cavalryman, splitting it in two. Whether it was skin, bones, or internal organs, all were cut open with a machete, and a clear dividing line appeared between the upper and lower bodies of the Yellow Turban Cavalry, from which intestinal blood flowed and flowed all over the ground.

Warm blood splattered on his face, and then ran down his face, extremely viscous, turning Li Qianjun's face into a paint shop. A sickly smile appeared on Li Qianjun's face, he could clearly feel the speed of blood flowing on his face, the temperature, and the line slowly spreading downward, and the smell of blood lingered near the tip of his nose.

"It's such an intoxicating taste." sniffled, Li Qianjun's tongue stretched out, and the blood that flowed from the corner of the ****'s mouth.

A spear suddenly appeared in front of Li Qianjun, the tip of the spear was getting closer and closer to him, and there were dripping blood on it, but he was greeted only by a pair of scarlet eyes. Li Qianjun's left hand stretched out, and his palm grasped the tip of the spear, and a large piece of flesh was torn off. He held it deeply, embedding the sharp tip into his palm, rubbing the bones, and bringing unspeakable pain.

This pain made Li Qianjun's smile even brighter, his arm was violently forced, and with the help of the inertia of the war horse, he was sitting on the horse, with a playful smile, and the yellow turban cavalry on the other end of the spear was torn off by him and fell heavily to the ground.

Li Qianjun turned sideways, his feet sinking deep into the ground, but he still dragged a deep furrow backwards. Only then did he let go of the spear he was holding in his hand, the flesh and blood in his palm were blurry, but he saw it very lightly, even if it was painful again and again, it was nothing to amuse.

He was still deeply immersed in the aftertaste, and the blood in his mouth gradually melted into the saliva, but the fishy sweet taste was still echoing in his taste buds. Let him get excited, his heart beats violently, this feeling, it is indeed fascinating, this smell of blood, always like some stimulant, can provoke his nerves.

The foot sank downward, and then lifted upward, and the force of the thousand troops rushed forward. The next moment, where he had just stayed, a war horse rushed over, and in this environment, every moment of stay would attract a blow from the cavalry. So you can only move, keep moving, but how can the speed of a person's feet be faster than the speed of a war horse's four legs?

There were some soldiers in the death battalion who had just dodged the onslaught of a cavalryman, and before they could react, another cavalryman rode past him. Of course, the final result can only be knocked into the air, and the result after the collision is death, and when they are thrown into the sky, it is enough to die many times.

There were more and more soldiers of the death battalion who died, and there were many casualties among the same Yellow Turban cavalry, and everyone was red-eyed and did not retreat. There is blood in the eyes, and there is also blood in the heart, and those tyrannical thoughts urgently need to be watered with the freshest blood.

Yun Shui inhaled wildly, and with each breath he took in, a large amount of air with the smell of blood was sucked into his chest. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and there was an open wound on his face, revealing a bright red patch of flesh from it. The blood continued to flow, and the sweat swept through the wound, and every sweat drop brought a sense of soreness and pain.

He was running fast, moving, everything on the battlefield fell into his eyes, recording anytime and anywhere. The knives flickered with cold light, flew out of his hands, and did not enter the chest of the Yellow Turban Cavalry. Each time, it was when the other soldiers in the death battalion were most in danger and most in need.

But gradually, he felt more and more powerless, there were more and more wounds on his body, his left arm became sore, and his fingers gradually couldn't hold the flying knife. The clouds and waters were even in a bit of a trance, and when they came back to their senses, a spear had already come to their eyes, getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, another figure appeared in front of him.

Chang Le snorted, and the spear pierced through his left chest, piercing his ribcage, and both ribs were broken. The short knife in his hand swirled in the palm of his hand, slicing open the tendons of the horses, completely separating the flesh from the bones.

was taken out heavily, but Chang Le's face was smiling, at least there was nothing wrong with the clouds. He still has a lot of lives to pay, but unfortunately, it is estimated that there is no chance.

Yes, it's good if there's nothing to do, he stretched out his hand and wanted to pull out the spear in his chest, but Chang Le felt that his arm had no strength at all. With a smile on his lips, he closed his eyes, and the life was quickly withdrawn from him.

"Chang Le!"

(End of chapter)