The imperial capital.
The gloomy weather left people sticky, unable to distinguish whether it was sweat or moisture clinging to their bodies.
The atmosphere was also incredibly oppressive.
In the vast imperial capital.
The common people held hoes, kitchen knives, and axes, their chests bound with black pots, heads adorned with iron pans. The hands clutching their "weapons" were slightly pale, some people's nervous sweat pouring down, but not a single one retreated.
Atop the city walls.
The defending soldiers were ready for battle, eyeing the surroundings with vigilance.
There was no wind in the air, the heaviness and dampness causing the battle flags to hang listlessly.
Yang Ling stood on the city tower above the Vermilion Bird Gate, with the Shadow Demon, Fu Yuan, Ye Heng, and others standing to his left and right, staring intently at the mighty army approaching from the horizon.
Five million allied troops!
