"Blow the horn! Charge!"
At the order of the old warlord, a Brother Ah Bing immediately raised the brass horn in his hand and blew a stirring sharp melody.
The surrounding players shouted and gathered immediately, wilding weapons in the charge formation of Brother Cat and the fierce soldiers, slashing madly. The psychic in the ranks continuously cast large-scale slowing and immobilizing spells, while hunters no longer pursued precision kills, switching to trench guns for area damage.
The undead manipulators began casting death spells, summoning frail skeleton armies from the littered corpses to buy a bit of trivial time. Meanwhile, Lord Qin's "intimate comrade" Old Baldwin was also going berserk, perhaps the wildness innate to the Nords temporarily surpassing the apathy brought by death, throwing out Flame Strike Skills as if they were free.
Iron tube boys switched to white phosphorus bombs; clearly, it was no longer the time for humanitarianism.
