"It's boring." Striker's right foot lifted and stepped forward.

The stomp on the chest of a fallen Yellow Turban soldier stomped on the ground, and the combat boots stepped down, and with the crunch sound of bones shattering, the Yellow Turban soldier's chest sank downward. And the eyes widened, and the mouth continued to foam with blood, and until he died, his eyelids did not want to close.

Zhan Feng's eyes did not fall on this corpse, and trampling such a person to death was like stepping on an ant. How can stepping on an ant attract attention? Zhan Feng looked into the distance, the Yellow Turban army in the distance was fleeing in panic, and the cavalry under his command was chasing and killing, such a one-sided battle, he had experienced it many times, and he couldn't even arouse the slightest interest in it.

Is this a battle? A group of soldiers who have no fighting spirit are the same as a group of peasants, even if they hold swords, guns, swords, halberds, but they are not much different from hoes. People who want to kill people can smash people to death even if they hold a wooden stool. People who don't have murderous intentions are holding sharp knives, and they can't handle them.

In the eyes of the battle front, the soldiers of the Yellow Turban Army who fled were the latter, and when they encountered a relatively high-intensity battle, they would suddenly collapse. What good is it to be an opponent and fight against these people? A good knife also needs to be sharpened, and if you want to get a good knife, only in the collision of thousands of knives, the ones that will not break can be called a good knife.

So with the knife, so with the man. When all the enemies encountered are like ordinary Yellow Turban soldiers, even if they win a hundred battles, a good knife will be dulled and worn out. Look at those soldiers, they don't even have the courage to turn around and fight again, they don't have the courage to fight again, and all that awaits them is death.

It's just that they can't turn back, it's all a dead word, if even these ordinary Yellow Turban soldiers can't take it down, then there is no need for these sons of their fighters to exist. However, it's one thing to die, it's another thing to resist or not, at least there's another way to live, isn't it?

Removing his feet, Zhan Feng looked down at the corpse of the Yellow Turban soldier who was not blind until death, and smiled coldly. What qualifications does he have to die? Compared with those people who are also blind to death, his death is too cheap, because before he dies, he doesn't know how many people will die without turning a blind eye.

War is meaningless, Zhan Feng clearly knows this, and almost every generation of warriors of the Zhan family understands this. But war will never stop, even if it is meaningless, but there are people, there is fighting. There will be greed, there will be dissatisfaction, conspiracy, pursuit, guarding, defending, the good and the bad, intertwined, it is war.

In war, there is no good or evil, there is no right or wrong. Yes, there are only winners and losers.

Even if you know, you have to continue, I have to say that this is a kind of sadness, because there are too many things in the world that are not up to people. In reality, his gun and his halberd in the game cannot change the essence of it, and all that can be decided is his own life and death, the life and death of a group of people, and even the victory or defeat of a battle.

Seeing through does not mean that you are tired of it, and it does not mean that you will give up. In such a meaningless war, I finally try to make myself a meaningful person and do something meaningful, at least the butcher's knife you raised, right?

Maybe one day, he will become one of the corpses on the ground, whether in reality or in games, but at least then, he will not die without a blind eye.

What makes sense? Whether it is good or evil, when you become the victor, your subordinates are also indirectly stained with countless innocent blood.

Retracting his feet, the combat boots he was wearing were stained with a few drops of blood spurting out, and the battle blade took a few steps forward, and the imprint of blood was completely covered by dust. Under these boots, those black-brown marks were formed by trampling on the blood of the battlefield and continuing to move forward, completely attached to the soil.

The halberd pillar in his hand, with a "bang", the hardest braincase on the human body, like an egg, shattered. The outer shell shattered, revealing the softest part of the inside, and when the shell shattered, it splattered out, and a viscous liquid flowed in all directions.

The fishy smell in the air was even worse, Zhan Feng's eyes didn't even blink, he faintly watched the red and white liquid fly in front of him, and he dodged it on the side of his head. Die with a grievance or everlasting regret? There are no dead bodies.

"How?" The trickster walked up from the side and asked.

"It's fine." Zhan Feng shook his head and walked forward with his halberd, and the slurry hung down from the end of the halberd's shaft, dripping onto the ground.

He didn't know why there was such a moment of emotion, but it was only a moment, and Zhan Feng regained his indifference. Walking forward, the halberd in his hand fell, and the wounded but not dead Yellow Turban soldiers were completely killed.

From the commander down, the order of the Han army was to kill them all, and there was no mercy for these Yellow Turban soldiers. Even if there are Yellow Turban soldiers who surrender, those with a small number will be killed on the spot, and those with a large number will dig a pit and kill them all.

Zhan Feng didn't have time to bring so many people, especially the wounded soldiers, and in this era of such backward medical conditions, very few survived. Among the cavalry led by the battle front, almost everyone knew battlefield first aid, but they didn't have time to stay here, and they didn't have so many medicines in their hands.

You can only kill, anyway, it's all death, dying a little earlier is better than dying later, after all, there is a little less pain. The blade's tactics were swift and accurate, and the wounded soldiers died under his halberd, barely feeling much pain.

The halberd was in his hand, like a light sword, the crescent halberd blade slashed, gently touched the throat, and then the touch was fleeting, leaving only a shallow, but enough fatal wound. He walked slowly, and with the swing of his halberd, one life after another was lost.

"I'm really looking forward to the main force of the Yellow Turban Army, really, don't let me down," he smiled unconsciously, and Zhan Feng walked through the battlefield full of corpses. His smile was as sharp as a sharp blade out of its sheath.

There are too many meaningless things, and some people have no meaning to live, but they always have to live and go on. Although war is meaningless, it needs to be defined by others, and this is the meaning of the existence of people like him.

Only turn the blade and cut through the confusion of the night, only hope for the dawn to be bright. This is a sentence written in the ancestral shrine of the war, all those who participate in the war, whether they invade or protect their homeland, probably, are for the "light" in their hearts, right?

As a soldier, you can only move forward.

(End of chapter)