This sensation of ten thousand horses thundering ahead triggered Zheng Fan's memory of his first battle in Qian State alongside Li Fusheng at the Green Willow Fortress.
However, at that time, he and his troops were merely an auxiliary part of the force. Now, he stood alone as a leader.
The Sword Saint appeared extraordinarily excited. To be honest, he had been suppressed for a long time. He had endured an unlucky year, failing at everything he attempted and leading every catastrophe.
At this moment, he had let go of all responsibilities and burdens. All he was responsible for was killing—killing with his sword.
This, perhaps, was the real joy of being a Sword Saint.
"How much farther is it? How much farther to Fengxin!" the Sword Saint asked Zheng Fan.
