Winter, the ninth year of Chongzhen. I, the leader of the "Dark Blade" special operations team in the Southeast War Zone, woke up and became a starving frontier soldier in Xuanfu Town, Ming Dynasty.
Historical knowledge tells me that at this time, Gao Yingxiang had just been captured, Li Zicheng was about to become king, and Huang Taiji outside the pass was sharpening his sword.
With the help of modern military skills, I finally managed to keep a dozen of my sallow and skinny brothers well fed and repair the dilapidated piers and platforms until they were impregnable, but I waited 800 miles to hurry up:
"The army conquering Liao was defeated, and Liaodong... Was no longer a human being."
At first, we thought that the black people marching south in the distance were broken troops.
Until Ye Bushou's brothers desperately brought back a "person" with only half of his body left, his intestines flowing all over the floor, but still roaring.
My deputy, a forty-year-old veteran frontier soldier, tremblingly lit the torch.
Under the light of the fire, I looked at the face of the former army comrade who was vaguely discernible but black and rotten. I took a deep breath of cold air and slowly uttered two words:
"Corpse transformation."
The Great Wall is no longer outside the pass, but behind us. And what I bring is the immortal fire that will belong to the Chinese military soul five hundred years from now.
