Or perhaps, the concept of inevitable victory doesn't exist at all. After all, Shan Bing was a former War Soldier, and he understood the true nature of battle—no matter how fully armed a warrior was, facing those forest barbarians who only wielded wooden clubs, there was always a chance of having their skulls shattered by the opponent's club. In battle, there is never any guarantee of victory; it only leads to two outcomes.
Life, or death.
And now it seems, the probability of death is overwhelmingly high.
Traditional warfare tactics have lost their meaning at this moment. The river once seen as an impregnable barrier was nearly nonexistent in front of those prairie riders. They exuded their Evil Qi, leaving trails of force in mid-air, and their warhorses used these trails to leap across the great river almost effortlessly.
"They, they can even fly in the sky..."
Thinking of this, Shan Bing couldn't help but tighten his grip on the Short Sword in his hand.
