A moving mountain under the slope, a surging tide on the slope mountain, the water is majestic, and there is a sea of blood in an instant.

For the barbarian warrior who did not know the pain, the bow and arrow was as ridiculous as a child's toy, and as long as he was not shot in a few fatal parts, the barbarian warrior would not die, or even lose his combat power.

Their knives are wide enough, they don't need to think about the field of vision, they don't need to study the technique, they just want to cut each other with their opponents, you stab me, I'll slash you, see who can't carry it first, see who dies first.

With broad swords in front of them, obscuring their sight and throat, the barbarian warriors let arrows plunge into their bodies and roared up the hill, colliding with the oncoming team.

Rumble!

There seemed to be a muffled thunder between heaven and earth, followed by a blood belt shooting towards the sky, and the battlefield was instantly filled with stump fragments, and the eyes were blood-red.

A neat row of guns tore through the air, and an untidy sword light slashed head-on, shouting and howling were intertwined, and it was difficult to distinguish each other.

In the middle of the battlefield, there is a scene that requires careful rehearsal to see, a row of fierce bodies hanging from the tips of the spears of the two dragon spears, and the blood of the barbarian warriors who have been pierced by the stabbing is raging, and they even rush towards their opponents with their spears and even through them.

Behind it, more barbarian warriors rushed over and slashed with their swords.

They cut down their opponents, their comrades, their own people, and the barbarian warriors were unstoppable, but once they were really stopped, it would be an irreparable disaster. They are like pigs that have gone crazy and forgot to turn, and they go on a rampage, and if they have free space in front of them, they instinctively swing their knives if they don't have or need to dodge.

This is the barbarian, this is the barbarian after going berserk.

Another group of guards rushed down, and many of them, seeing this, simply jumped up with high steps, condescendingly stabbed their guns, and aimed at the other party's head, throat, and heart.

The gun shines on the human eye. It is not inferior to the blood flower, and it is not only the barbarians who are qualified to be brave. The red-eyed guards who killed the eagle attacked the wolf Gu, how could it be that they forgot to die.

If you are injured and can still fight, then stab them to death, and if you wield a knife with a broken arm, then pierce their heads! A roar bloomed in the space, and one after another poisonous dragons broke through the body, and then were swept by a sword light, and the waist was cut into two pieces.

But seek to kill the enemy. Although he died, he had no regrets.

The brute warriors did not flinch or be timid in the slightest of the way they were playing, they rushed forward like beasts, like machines, swinging their swords, being shot, and charging again. Swing the knife again

The first head flew into the sky, the first body was split into two pieces, the Liliang of the brute battle was so huge, and the long knife was so wide and thick that it could not only kill the guards who had passed through the refinement, but even cut off the spear in his hand.

There was no warm-up, no temptation, and the two sides instantly killed to a climax. Like two beasts that are divided into pieces and bite each other.

Blood gathered into a stream. It became a river, on the land in front of the trench. Corpses and flesh were piled up rapidly, as if the earth could not bear to see such a battle continue, and it was to be stopped by a wall of blood.

But, it can't be stopped.

The number of both sides was rapidly reduced, and on the whole the barbarian warriors were more miserable, not because they were not strong and fierce enough, but because of a lack of discipline.

It's not that they are lacking, it's that they don't have it at all, and they don't even cut down their own people, so they are not qualified to mention the word discipline.

On the battlefield, unless one side has the strength to crush the opponent, the winner is determined by the side that is more tenacious, more durable, and more cooperative.

The guards combined their attacks from far and near, covered with bows and guns, and from time to time they would shoot their friends with bows and arrows in vital places such as eye sockets, killing an opponent at zero cost to cover their comrades. One or two places may seem to have little effect, but when they add up, they are enough to tilt the tide of battle, and if the battle continues like this, the number of guards will not be superior, but they will still be able to win the final victory.

The problem is that the guards are not just against the barbarians.

"Kill!"

The Scarface Leader roared and leaped to his feet, like a wolf clad in red color, and his broadsword slashed down at the head, slashing an oncoming brute warrior and backwards, and he himself was swept back by the tremendous force of the impact, and his arms were faintly numb.

Even he was like this, so you can imagine how much pressure those ordinary guards were under, Scarface commanded a sword and one person, and in an instant, he had killed a whole seven brutes, and he also ushered in his limit at the fastest speed.

The brute who was in the middle of the sword died in battle, but not by the Scarface Sword, but by his clansmen as he retreated. Scarface staggered a few steps to regain his footing, his sword-gripping hand quickly opening and clenching several times, trying to get through the odds in the shortest amount of time.

Seven Swords showed signs of losing strength, and he could barely believe that this was him. Shocked by the barbarians' madness, Scarface's heart sank deeper and deeper like his hand, and he couldn't help but take his eyes off his opponent and move to the figure that rushed to the center of the barbarian crowd.

Scarface had fought with the Barbarians, but he didn't know that the Barbarians' madness was not only mad, but also contagious to each other, and even superimposed.

"Shhh

Scarface's expression was instantly frozen, like a donkey that had been frightened silly

The moment he saw the barbarian leader wielding his sword, Thirteen Lang included it in his must-kill list, the leader's strength was still above Scarface, at least Liliang was better than it, Thirteen Lang couldn't leave him to others, so he took action himself.

Descending the mountain, the speed is several times faster than that of the brute warriors, but it does not have the momentum to make the earth tremble like theirs. Thirteen Lang was like a gust of wind, a real wind, fluttering forward, with an afterimage roaring behind him.

The brute head noticed Thirteen Lang and saw that his target was himself, and the corners of his mouth flashed a cruel smile, half dignified, and went straight up.

Contrary to what everyone on the slopes knows, not everyone is completely out of their minds when they go berserk, such as the leader, who is capable of distinguishing between friend and foe, but pretends not to know. This has to do with the admiration of the barbarians, otherwise it is not enough to deter subordinates, not enough to make this group of beasts get tired of it.

On the battlefield, two figures approached quickly, one large and one small, one tall and one short, one strong and one thin, one heavy and one light, the same line and attitude, the same fierceness and ruthlessness, the same fury and bloodthirsty.

Approach, ram, go backwards, kill!

No one sees the process, only the result.

It was the leader of the barbarians who retreated, his overly tall body swaying, to be precise, his head kept tilting up, and blood was flying from his face. Two shapeless fists struck with a strong wind. Just like the body of the man rushing forward.

The brute swung his sword, slicing through a large expanse of air, and then there was no more chance to strike, and he felt like his head was being slammed and slammed and slammed into his head by a siege engine

The first punch was blinded, and his body was completely uncontrollable, and he could only retreat in the direction that Liliang came from. Back back, back again

Before, the barbarian head had always wanted to see the face of Shisanlang, to see what this surprised scholar looked like, he could see that this thin scholar was very big, but as a proud barbarian warrior, as a barbarian leader who regarded bows and arrows as a game. He couldn't tell from the number of draws he had made.

The Barbarian had never thought of such a possibility, so when the truth came, when the opponent slammed into the front door with a more violent posture than himself, the Barbarian turned into a puppet, a sandbag, and a moving wall of humanoid flesh.

Now that he could see his opponent clearly, Thirteen Lang's expression was not vicious at all, as calm as if he was reading a book. in writing. Drawing with a pen in hand.

"How so?"

In the confusion, the brute's mind gradually lost. I only felt that the front door was constantly being bombarded, and someone behind me was holding up the body, but it was still retreating.

Two, three, and four looked from afar, and Thirteen Lang seemed to use the brute head as a shield and pushed out a human wall.

All those who saw this scene were stunned, forgetting the applause, forgetting the fear, and even forgetting the battle.

What they didn't know was that compared to the full strength of Thirteen Lang when he was at his peak, less than one of the ten used now was simply a joke. Of course, Shisanlang is not in good shape now, and no matter how big his liliang is, he can't kill all the hundreds of barbarian warriors with one punch, not even two. Regardless of the hidden strength, regardless of whether there are serious consequences, he can only punch by punch like the most ordinary warriors, killing opponents one by one.

Bang bang!

Flesh and blood fought, flesh and blood flying, the dull sound continued, the brute head retreated, the brute head lost his knife, the brute head snorted, the brute head was silent from beginning to end, the brute head did not let out even a miserable howl, which was regarded as maintaining the dignity of the brute warrior.

It's not that he doesn't want to, but he can't do it! The brute leader, who was filled with fear in his heart, wanted to scream, and even wanted to beg for mercy, but he didn't have a chance.

Thirteen Lang's fist can even smash back the sound!

Approaching the center of the barbarian warrior, Thirteen Lang gave up the head that had been beaten up and shook out.

Like a civet cat running into the wolves, as if fleas have been flying in the lions, Shisanlang's body shuttles through the crowd, his fists are like wind and feet are like electricity, his fingers are like swords, his fingers are like swords, stirring a whirlpool, and he is a mess.

Intercepting pulses, inch blows, inserting eyes, teasing crotch, broken knees, broken shoulders, every blow must be hit, and the middle will be wasted.

Not dead, but all wasted!

No one can run with a broken knee, no one can swing a knife when the lock is broken, no one can fight blindly, no one is not afraid to flirt with his legs

Neither can the barbarians, even if they go berserk.

The tactics have changed, the tactics have not changed, and the thirteen lang has not taken care of everything, and there is no way to cover the whole game; he wants to cut off the water in the middle, and he has to intercept the offensive of the barbarian warriors in the center, so that they can be interrupted and let them collapse.

By one person!

The breeze swept across the battlefield, and there was a staggering behind him, and no brute battle could catch that figure, so he could only blindly swing his sword, swinging a certain part of his body violently or weakly, falling, and howling wildly.

Thirteen Lang's expression became calmer and calmer, his attack became faster and faster, and the killing retreat in his eyes was replaced by joy and tranquility, as if he had found some rhythm and retrieved some memory, and with joy and joy, he danced on the battlefield and danced on the hillside.

Twenty years ago, the purple-clothed young man broke into Longtan alone, and broke 300 Tsing Yi by himself;

Twenty years later, the purple-clothed young man faded into a butterfly, and his opponent became stronger, but no matter how it changed, as long as the obsession in his heart was not extinguished, and the flame in his chest was not extinguished, Thirteen Lang was still the same Thirteen Lang, wearing a shabby cotton jacket and the same as the young man in purple back then

It's still the thirteenth master!

(To be continued......)