The deafening roar of battle engulfed the soldiers as they clashed. Piercing screams of the wounded filled the air, a haunting backdrop to the chaos. Whistling arrows sliced through the sky like deadly meteors. The taste of snow and blood clung to their parched tongues as the cold winds blew harshly against their shielded bodies.
The blade's edge cut through the air as he sprinted toward the enemy lines, fearless and resolute. Each step he took carried the weight of destiny as he led the charge, his sword leading the way.
Zhao Ming had embarked on a journey towards the Imperial Summer Palace, a place situated three days' travel from the northern border. This summons from his father was a familiar one, and Zhao Ming anticipated what lay ahead. It had occurred twice before, and he knew that he would once again face his father's stern words, criticizing him for being a burden and a freeloader in the army.
