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Luyu Mountain, at the mountain's foot.
The wind danced, and the snow drifted.
There were still three days until the talks between Dashang and the Northern Barbarians.
Not far from here lay the vast battlefield, with many corpses yet to be collected. Yet people tirelessly came to gather the bodies.
Even in death, they would return home wrapped in horsehide.
This was done for the morale and the spirit of the army.
An army had a soul. If you did not respect it, you could not train a strong force with belief.
Death was a solemn affair.
At this time, whether in Dashang or the Northern Barbarians, many volunteers had been sent to the battlefield to collect the corpses.
Everyone understood that the war, at least this year's war, was nearing its end, and perhaps very soon, the disaster of the Ghost Tide would arrive. So they gathered as many bodies as they could while they could.
...
Northern Barbarians...
