Blood moon in the sky, the stars dimmed.
At the top of the mountain, the chilling night wind mixed with the smell of gunpowder and blood from below continuously howled past Wesley Peterson and the four other lords, bringing a bone-chilling coldness.
At this moment, not far from them and their nearly 200 Tier 1 subordinates, was a well-organized, fully armed foreign race army.
At a glance, their numbers roughly estimated from the densely packed figures in the distance seemed almost equal to them.
At some point, waves of icy killing intent began to emanate from the short squad, and even their marching formation started to become more compact.
There was no doubt that the enemy had also discovered their presence and had prepared for the killing.
At this moment, under the flickering torchlight in the enemy's hands, the lords of cold sweat on their foreheads finally saw the enemy soldiers' faces one after another.
