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A bad, blood-soaked banner stood obliquely among the corpses, in the lower part of the flagpole, there was a hand clutching the flagpole desperately, the face of the soldier who had long since died was full of unwillingness and fear, gray and godless pupils, the body was cold, stiff and strange to maintain the movements that he was unwilling to give up before his death.

Until he died in battle, he never forgot this flag, and even wanted to hold it high!

Pity...

He could no longer see the majestic presence of the flag flying over the castle.

In the center of the broken banner, a dazzling pattern in the shape of the sun turned bewitching with blood, it was the banner of the Zoroa Empire, and around this banner, an unknown number of corpses fell on top of each other.

The corpses that fell horizontally and vertically were intertwined, and the death was also strange, extending into the distance, and there was still the sound of clanging handovers, and it seemed that the war was about to end.

Only the left-armed general was left on his horse, and beside him there were dozens of cavalry.

With this group of remnants and defeated generals as the center, they spread outward for nearly thirty meters, all of them were the elite divisions of the West Karen Empire, and their cold eyes were full of numbness and indifference.

"Are you afraid?" asked the one-armed general, his voice hoarse and low.

The rest of the soldiers looked at each other, their eyes full of fear of death, longing for their families, and countless complex emotions, and when the general slowly asked this sentence.

They shouted in unison, "Don't be afraid. ”

"Follow me for the last charge. The general didn't seem to want to say more, but after hesitating for a moment, he added another sentence: "When you charge, report your name, and when you go to the gates of hell, you can be a companion!"

Two seconds later, his breath was rapid.

"Northland Legion, attack!"

Almost after this long roar, everyone charged forward, some of them didn't even have war horses, some of them were just ordinary infantrymen, and some of them had some curly blades.

But I heard the attack.

Fearless of life and death, they resolutely attacked forward.

This is their last glimmer of glory as soldiers, until they die!

"Northland Legion, Commander Brenaud von Thomas!" Brenaud shouted his name as the men who followed him followed the lone general's call.

"Northland Legion, Cavalry Regiment Kana-Baker!"

"Northland Legion, Cavalry Regiment Rhea White!"

...

Dozens of people followed Brenaud's footsteps as he charged and killed the enemy, slashing all the way through.

"Plop—"

After a few drops, Breno's heart sank, and there were fewer and fewer soldiers following him, and the pressure of the enemy was increasing, but his blade did not stop at all, and even if he lost his customary right arm, it did not affect him in the slightest to swing his sword to slash and slash deadly.

A man's head flies.

Breno's face froze.

Killed another Sikaron mongrel.

Blood spurted his face, and the war horse under his crotch was crooked.

Brenor knew that he was about to die, the cavalry was surrounded, and it was reasonable to say that he was capable of breaking out, even if Sicaren tried to kill their remnants, he could not stop the cavalry charging on the plain.

But.

Brenaud didn't want to survive, it was the glory of the soldiers to die on the battlefield, or rather, he would rather be a general who died in battle than a general who escaped and surrendered.

Dead to pull a few pads, Brenaud fell off his horse and struggled to get up.

Several spears stabbed one after another, and there were bursts of pain in his abdomen, back, and chest, and before he could react, his head was a little groggy, and his consciousness gradually lost.

"Charge," Brenaud muttered the last words in his mouth, and a mouthful of blood foamed out of his mouth, holding his sword aloft, but slowly losing strength due to the loss of his life.

Behind him was a Zoroa soldier.

He cried out, but tears couldn't stop oozing from his eyes.

"Long live Zoroa, long live the Empire, I love you, Mom!"

"Poof—"

A red line appeared on the soldier's neck, and a large knife slashed through his throat, and his head flew up.

A low groan sounded softly in my ears.

"Zoroa, it's history. ”

"This soil now belongs to Sikalen—"