The setting sun was like blood, dyeing the mountain of corpses outside Yanmen Pass red.
Lin Jinghong leaned on the broken gun and knelt on one knee, his chest heaving violently, and every breath brought tearing pain. His black armor had already been soaked with blood, and he couldn't tell whether it belonged to the enemy or his own.
Behind them, there were only three hundred remnant soldiers, all injured, but still holding their weapons tightly, staring at the slowly approaching barbarian army in front of them with burning eyes.
"General, retreat! If you don't leave, it will be too late!" The deputy general roared, with despair in his voice.
Lin Jinghong slowly raised his head and looked at the large flag embroidered with the head of a ferocious wolf in the barbarian formation. Three days ago, he led 5,000 elite troops out of the border to defend against the enemy. He thought that he could use the terrain advantage to fight a beautiful ambush, but unexpectedly fell into the trap of the barbarians and was surrounded by 50,000 troops here.
There were only 300 people left out of 5,000.
