He knelt in the mud and gnawed at the bark like a dog.
He stood on the mountain of corpses, blood dripping into the soil along the groove of the knife.
In the forty-seventh year of King Qin Zhaoxiang's reign, Changping's blood had not yet dried up.
Ying Zheng has not yet shouted, "I want to rule the world."
When Lin Mo came through, he only had a broken armor, a broken crossbow, and one life.
He couldn't hear the bells in Xianyang, but the inscriptions on military titles were his heartbeat.
The road from Gongshi to Wu'anjun is paved with heads.
Someone asked him if he was afraid.
He wiped the knife without raising his head:
"Afraid. But even more afraid of going back to the days of eating tree bark."
The million-word killing flow will take you to smell the bloody smell in the mud of the Warring States Period.
