The golden light of dawn splintered across the vast battlefield, casting long shadows and lending an ethereal glow to the silent, tense atmosphere. The early morning mist, like the lingering remnants of some forgotten dream, lazily floated across the land, adding an aura of mystique to the scene. A cool breeze lightly tousled my hair, carrying with it the smell of dew-laden grass, mingled with the scent of well-oiled metal and leather.
My hand instinctively adjusted its grip on the hilt of my saber, fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved on the pommel with a mixture of anxiety and resolve. The blade reflected the first light of the day, a beacon of defiance and readiness.
Across the silent field, the imposing figure of Lü Bu dominated the scene. His expression was stoic, the calm before a storm, radiating an uncanny mix of fierce determination and eerily peaceful resolution.
