"Do not die!"
Facing the approaching formation of iron cavalry, Zhang Duo slowly stepped forward. He had already reached his limit, with less than three months of life remaining. Though he was preserving so-called heartless things, he had no regrets.
He earnestly stretched his body, gripping the spear in his hand tightly.
A relic of a past era should meet its end in a manner befitting that previous era.
He strode toward the front, towards the last battlefield of his life, alone, rushing towards the ever-adjusting military formation, as if marching toward death.
There were old and lonely roars echoing between heaven and earth.
"Wind!"
The reflections, writhing in instinctual agony, suddenly froze.
Their battle robes were already torn, their armor merely illusory; some had even lost an arm. They were the last memories before death, the final instincts before death, and all they could leave was this.
