On both banks of the Cold River, numerous army camps stood. Their powerful morale surged into the sky, and a faint aura of bloodshed caused the heavens and earth to change color.
On the west bank, Lin WuFeng led one million elite disciples from the Holy Land, supported by tens of millions of ordinary troops, setting up defenses along a thousand-mile pass.
On the east bank, Zheng Guiqiong, the deputy leader of the Purple Begonia Holy Land, led an army of over 130 million, frantically gathering ancient deadwood to build warships.
"The situation is not promising!"
Atop the walls of Han Shui Pass, Lin WuFeng, donned in Kylin battle armor, gazed into the distance across the ten-mile Cold River.
It was early morning, and the river's surface was shrouded in mist that shifted through myriad forms. Under the nascent sun, a faint golden light permeated the vapor, creating a picturesque scene.
