The remnant sun is like blood, the birds are tired, and the wailing is non-stop, which makes people's hearts desolate.

There was an evening breeze blowing in the wasteland, but it couldn't blow away the bloody smell that lingered in the killing field.

The bones were everywhere, the souls of the dead lingered, and the impermeable blood merged into streams, soaking the wasteland, staining the withered yellow grass and trees, rendering death to the extreme, the color was so red that it was a little black, and it flowed out of countless cold and broken corpses heavily and slowly, slowly seeping into the soil, which was countless lives that passed quietly.

They died in this war.

The shattered sunset was still jumping on the horizon, reluctant to leave, unable to bear to erase the last shred of light.

If you accidentally set foot here, there is probably no place to stay, because no matter how careful you are, you will step into a pool of sticky blood, not to mention the stumps and broken arms everywhere, and the thick blood is disgusting.

It is not an exaggeration to say that this is a Shura field.

A large flock of black crows was like the shadow of death, lingering nearby, lingering, greedily pecking at the already cold corpse, occasionally raising their heads to look at the young man in the pile of corpses, as if wondering whether it was a dead person or not.

The bloodied Zhu'an seemed to crawl out of a pool of blood, like duckweed in this war, suffering and ups and downs, or maybe he was the killer who brought death, full of murderous energy, and performed an art called slaughter for this heaven and earth.

With a long wave, the sword spike danced lightly, the sword light was clear, and he couldn't remember how many lives it had taken, but the sword blade was still as bright as ever, not stained with half a point of blood, as if it had never been involved in this wanton killing.

As the wind stopped, there was a dead silence around them, and Zhu An felt that his soul was also cruelly torn apart inch by inch.

At the cost of their lives, they stubbornly blocked the attack of two groups of Hun soldiers.

The ravens, the sand bandits, the remaining Chaoyue soldiers, a whole hundred and seven people, all died in this battle, lying quietly at his feet, without flinching or making a sound.

Relentless fighting, endless slaughter.

Even though they fell one after another, they still walked without hesitation.

He had already killed people to the point of numbness, the tiger's mouth was torn, and the stinging was not stopped, but he still held on to his long-term affection, desperately swinging out sword after sword, repeating the action, as if he was killing people by instinct.

The smell of blood was so thick that it was so pungent that it made people want to vomit, and there was no living person around, but he could vaguely feel that there were still continuous footsteps coming this way.

Neat and powerful, well-trained.

Zhu'an held up his sword and gasped tiredly.

Even if a sword can cut Fanghua, it can't resist the inexhaustible enemies that come like a tide.

After a long battle, his body became heavy, but his head was still clear.

It was a strange feeling, like a soul floating in mid-air out of its shell, compassionately and silently examining everything, including the self that was about to be lost in the slaughter.

Estimating that the next group of enemies would still be some distance away before they arrived, Zhu'an exhaled, did not run or hide, and sat directly on the ground next to the corpse at his feet, and held it in his arms and refused to let go, as if supporting him, the last bit of comfort.

It was the last sword of his father Lin Jingzhi, with the tears of his mother's forgetfulness in the blade, the unreserved care of the master in the sword light, and the sword spike tied to his love affair with Weaving Dreams, which were all inseparable concerns in his life.

The surroundings were a little too quiet, and there was no temperature in the warm sun, and only the bloody weeds that seemed to be covered with red dew were swaying unevenly in the wind.

There was a dull pain all over his body, as if he had been run over by a boulder, but it was bearable, because it was far less sad than when he lost Weaving Dreams.

Although he could see the blood stains on his hands, he couldn't see what was wrong with him, but he vaguely felt that his eyes, mouth and nose were bloody, and the things in his sight were always covered with a layer of dark red, and there seemed to be sounds around him, but if he listened carefully, he didn't seem to have anything, he just felt chaotic.

He just sat quietly.

This moment of respite is not pleasant, and Zhu'an suddenly remembered that when Weaving Dream accidentally ingested that bowl of poison, did he feel the same way?

It's no wonder it's hard.

He wanted to hook the corners of his lips, but he didn't have the strength.

Am ......

The most gentle knife, the knife breaks people's intestines.

Zhu An didn't dare to think about it any further, and caught the sound of footsteps approaching, he quickly cut off his thoughts, gritted his teeth and stood up again, his fingertips brushing the blue sword spike tied to the hilt, which was through the layers of killing, the last gentleness.

His heart was unexpectedly very calm, and he once again firmly held the long affection in his hand.

He can kill again.

As long as this breath remains......

○

Another small wave of Hun soldiers rushed to the battlefield, although they had expected the fierceness of the battle, they were inevitably shocked by this mountain of bones in Shura, they held cold weapons, and looked in amazement at the lonely person standing in the pile of corpses.

Covered in blood, his eyes were cold, like a killing god, one person and one sword, blocking their way.

An inexplicable shock was like a dark cloud pressing down on their hearts.

Like, who is he? Did he kill all the Hun soldiers? Many such questions swirled in their minds, but their throats seemed to be blocked by blood foam, and they couldn't say anything, so they had to tighten their weapons and attack directly at Zhu'an.

The blood stains on his body that were about to form a blood crust were soaked with blood again, but this time, in addition to the blood of the enemy, it seemed to be more of his own blood.

His vision became more and more blurred and red, and in his heavy breath, he saw that his hand holding the hilt of the sword was bleeding slowly, and the sweet smell in his throat lingered, but he still did not stop swinging the sword.

Sword after sword, the mountains and rivers are on their shoulders, although they are too heavy, but they are respectful, and they dare not slack off for a moment.

Sword after sword, what keeps slashing is the gentle years of the past.

Faced with the heavy encirclement of the enemy, Zhu'an no longer left himself any way to retreat, even if he was seriously injured and exhausted, as long as he still picked up the sword, he was still the decisive Zhu'an.

At the very least, he won't expose himself to the enemy.

One by one, the enemies screamed and fell, and many of them died with a pair of eyes still staring, perhaps they would never understand why the wounded boy was so desperate.

The momentum of resolutely going to death was terrifying, and soon only the last Hun soldier remained, his body was trembling irrepressibly, holding the spear tightly, hesitating between fleeing and not fleeing, swallowing saliva and staring at Zhu'an tightly, for fear that Zhu'an would suddenly kill.

However, there is a huge temptation in front of him - as long as he stabs one more shot, this young man who has been seriously injured can die under his gun and behead the enemy general, then he has undoubtedly made a great contribution, and he will be knighted, not to mention the bright future.

The man also looked like he was going to fall down at any moment.

After much hesitation, even though all his companions died by the man's sword, he chose to give in to his desires, and he roared angrily, and rushed with his spear in hand.

○

Zhu'an swung the last sword, the sword aura was as bright as a rainbow, and he carried out the four fields, and slashed the Hun soldier who rushed over with a fierce face neatly under the sword.

The dust settled, and the four places fell silent again.

With a bang, Changqing came out of his hand and fell to the ground.

It was as if the straight back was forced to bend, and the whole person suddenly knelt down.

The shoulder armor had been completely shattered, and his leg had been pierced by the Hun soldier who had just torn a bloody wound, and he was covered in blood, and from time to time it was ticking down, but he didn't have any strength to care about whether it was his own blood or the blood of the enemy.

It seems that this is the only way to go.

He can only come here alone, even if a group of Huns army comes now and breaks his body into thousands of pieces, he can only be disposed of.

However, he was not afraid, nor did he regret it.

He remained in a half-kneeling position, but could not stand up again, and finally allowed himself to collapse from exhaustion.

He lay in the vast wild meadow with his eyes half-open, twilight was rising, and the reed flowers like flying snow were gently fluttering, and for a moment he was in a trance, not knowing what day it was.

Suddenly remembered that he had indeed heard the song just now.

In countless miserable and cold nights, the soldiers in the army silently passed on a song and sang a song.

They sang it to Zhu'an, and when they sang it, there was a gentle and deep light in their eyes, which was also a song that the raven's brothers had taught him.

It's like a gentle dream in the summer when the sky is full of fireflies, always lingering in my ears, ringing intermittently.

He closed his eyes and hummed softly.

Poor Bai Xuequ, I haven't met a bosom friend.

Under the panic brigade, he stumbled on the seashore.

The stream trees contain the morning rain, and the mountain birds are in spring.

I have a scoop of wine to soothe the dust.