Heavy snow blanketed the field of white. Month after month the war had been raging. What Zhan Sheng had estimated as a short battle had gone on even longer. The wolves were at their wit's end, their bodies slumped and twisted like frozen metal in no man's land.
He shouldn't have underestimated General Zi Wang, for he knew the art of war.
It was a mistake he was paying for.
Soldiers died one after another, for men were mere gaps for filling and men were cheaper than grass. The only difference was that withered grass had the chance to sprout once more in the coming year. When men die, they have not even horsehide to return home in.
At best, the bodies of the dead would be shoved to the side, piled up in order to clear the battlefield. The bitter cold seeped straight to one's bones and the corpses that had been left out for months looked no different from when they had died, with no traces of rot to be seen.
