Under the relentless assault led by Jiang Chengdao and his Xuanwu Guards, over a hundred thousand front-line Imperial soldiers fell like harvested wheat. Simultaneously, due to Empress Zhao’s misjudgment of Jiang Chengdao’s capabilities, the central command tent was located only about ten miles from the battlefield. Although this distance was generally safe in most warfare scenarios, when facing the fierce Xuanwu Guards, there wasn’t enough buffer space, nor time to adjust tactics.

Moreover, no one knew just how powerful Jiang Chengdao’s personal strength truly was.

In its prime, a Saint-King could be equated to a nuclear bomb’s level of impact if placed in modern terms. Perhaps even more potent.

The feat of seizing the enemy general’s head amidst a sea of soldiers, even for a Saint-King not operating at full capacity, wasn’t entirely implausible.

Within the context of facing the fearsome Cangming Saint-King, the distance of ten miles couldn’t be considered safe, and in fact, posed extreme risks. To ensure safety, Empress Zhao and Xiahou Yan, who were at the core of the Imperial Army, had no choice but to abandon their carriage and stand their ground. They ordered the central command and the high-ranking warriors to advance and resist the Xuanwu Guards’ assault to their death, while they carried the Xuanfeng Banner and retreated. Simultaneously, they ordered the flanking forces and the rear guard to advance.

However, their retreat led to the instantaneous collapse of the War God Formation. The front-line, which was already overmatched by the Xuanwu Guards, collapsed like an avalanche once it lost the support of the War God Formation. The fleeing soldiers trampled each other as they screamed for their parents, even though the command team’s brutal efforts to stop them. In a matter of moments, the fleeing soldiers turned into a bloody mess.

Fortunately, the flanking forces arrived in time, and the rear guard acted swiftly. With support coming from three directions, the hundred-thousand-strong Imperial Army managed to barely stabilize the situation.

Facing the reorganized Imperial Army, Jiang Chengdao slightly tightened his grip on the black spear in his hand. His body was drenched in blood, and the dark armor he wore was stained with dark red bloodstains. The mane of his previously pitch-black Supreme Shadow Steed had turned blood-red. Even his breath, when he exhaled through his flaring nostrils, carried a tinge of scarlet.

He had lost count of how many Imperial soldiers had died by his hand.

The tip of his long spear was continuously dripping blood, stained with various shades of flesh.

Behind him, the thousands of Xuanwu Guards trod upon a path made of the mangled remains of tens of thousands of Imperial soldiers, while ahead of him, an endless horde of Imperial soldiers approached like a gathering storm cloud.

Yet, even in this situation, beneath his faceplate, there wasn’t a hint of fear on Jiang Chengdao’s face.