The Fourteenth Year, Last Summer, and Going Upstairs Today

The hero was always the last person to debut.

On the dusty battlefield, a few sub-generals had fiercely fought with knives for a long time. Instead of holding off the other side, they often suffered defeats. Then a soldier in a silvery robe suddenly raised the bridle reins to directly rush over on a horse, killing all the enemies. He then stood in the wild with his spear as the twilight was shining on his face, looking extremely graceful.

Gangs of youths were chopping at each other in the rainy streets, where the spraying blood was even denser and more intense than the rain. Dozens of corpses were lying in disorder on the streets from Western city to Southern city. And then a leader in black who was holding a steel knife appeared, shouting and waving his knife as if a blood dragon was flying from one side to the other. Under the knife of such an extremely powerful guy there appeared no enemies who could rival him, beneath whose feet no lives survived.