The heavy rain fell on Zhao Polu's long hair, and also vividly outlined the sharp edges and corners of his hand-Nu Senhan. It was obviously a magic weapon, and it was not low in grade.
Mopao Taoist's long sword hung above Zhao Polu's head, and his movements froze for a moment. When the crossbow pierced his throat and flew dozens of steps behind his head, his facial features instantly stiffened, not waiting for him to struggle. With the sound of ho ho, the whole body flew backwards with the huge force of the crossbow arrow, and fell to the ground with a bang, stirring up countless muddy water.
"You..." The Taoist forced his upper body to bow, and uttered a vague voice to Zhao Polu. Before he could utter the second syllable, he fell down powerlessly, and there was no more movement.
Zhao Polu stood up, drew back the spear that had been with him for many years, and stood in the night rain in the wilderness, his body as straight as a javelin.
Rainfall surrounded him, with the corpses of his companions and enemies lying beside him.
Ye style was extraordinarily cold, but his hot body did not cool down for a long time, because his body was boiling with hot blood.
Zhao Polu raised his head and stared at the boundless night sky. There are no stars on a thunderstorm night, and his eyes are destined to be pitch black. His eyes were not shining, but were filled with unresolved sadness.
He can't see the light outside the night, what he sees are only the comrades who died in the battle in the past.
He seemed to see thousands of troops roaring and galloping on the grassland.
Tsingyi Yamen enters the land to the east of Qingzhou, spreads hero posts, and set off a dispute with Penglai Daomen. Games are everywhere, and rivalries are staged everywhere. It is not uncommon to catch and fight.
But it was the first time to be ambushed halfway. The opponent dispatched two high-ranking qi practitioners, with nearly three times the force, surrounded and killed Zhao Polu's followers.
Among the four high-level qi training monks in Tsingyi Yamen, Zhao Polu has the lowest cultivation level and the weakest strength. In the previous battle in Huangli Township, he fought against Liu Dazheng, and was severely injured by the opponent's blow, and lost his combat power instantly. However, this does not mean that Zhao Polu is really Yi Yuzhi's generation.
Gathering up the corpses of the Tsingyi Yamen swordsman, Zhao Polu dug a big pit beside the road.
Losing his spear, he picked up the corpses of his companions, and laid them in, one by one, straight, shoulder to shoulder, foot to foot.
He even knelt beside them, straightening their robes.
The bamboo hat is placed on the chest of the companion, and the long knife is placed by the companion's hand.
He cut down many branches and leaves in the forest, and covered their corpses tightly and airtightly, and then piled the wet mud on top to form a graveyard.
Zhao Polu's movements were meticulous, just like when he buried his comrade's body on Zhanzhang Mountain in the past.
Standing in front of the grave, Zhao Polu remained silent.
He recalled the scenes of those bloody battlefields in the past. In those years, he buried countless comrades with his own hands.
The team leader who took care of him like his own brother, the corporal leader who laughed without front teeth, the dog who shared a steamed pancake with him, and the dude who always followed him like a fart, were beaten together with him The brave soldiers who had been rewarded fought side by side for tens of miles, and wiped out the heads of half of the barbarians in the centurion...
Some of their heads were not found because they were cut off by the prairie barbarians; panic.
They have gray-haired parents, toddlers waiting to be fed, and wives waiting for their return by the door...
The battlefield is Zhao Polu's battlefield, and the royal court of the desert is his goal. He thinks day and night that the army will seal the wolf and live in Xuxu.
But now, he has arrived in Pinglu, and in this completely irrelevant place, he has become a quack killer, facing a group of quack Taoists who don't know the so-called quack.
The encounters in life are always so unpredictable.
Zhao Polu took out a wine bag, sprinkled it in front of the grave, kept a little at last, and drank it with his head raised.
After finishing these, Zhao Polu bowed his head silently, put on his bamboo hat, turned around in the heavy rain, and walked away from the tomb without looking back.
Walking up the official road, carrying a seriously injured swordsman in Tsing Yi on his back, Zhao Polu ran away through the rain.
He had already spent too much time disposing of his companion's corpse, and it was getting closer and closer to the time when he arrived at the target location, so he had to do his best.
The Wukong Sword Gate, dozens of miles away, is the battlefield for his trip.
He was left alone, and he was carrying a seriously injured companion on his back.
But he had to go.
As a soldier, regardless of whether there are comrades by his side, no matter what his comrades have become, as long as he still has breath, he must rush to the battlefield on time.
Hold your spear tightly, stand up and fight, go all out, and never die.
No matter what kind of battlefield it is, whether it is facing an opponent he likes or dislikes, no matter whether he has a chance of winning or not, go to war.
If you live, you will live with your comrades; if you die, you will die with your comrades.
Go to war!
...
Qingshui Villa is ten miles away from the foot of the mountain.
Several swordsmen in Tsing Yi flew and ran wildly in the rain.
Dozens of monks in gray clothes followed closely behind them.
The swordsman in Tsing Yi, who took the lead, clutched his waist and abdomen tightly, and blood kept spilling from between his fingers. He gritted his teeth, never looked back, just ran forward with his head buried, and his footprints were connected in a straight line in the mud behind him.
Among the footprints, a drop of bloody red is particularly eye-catching.
The chasing monks in gray fanned out in a fan shape, and spread their wings in a fan shape while running, forming a pincer attack and encirclement.
In the night, there were only the sound of rain and footsteps, but no one spoke.
The fleeing Yamen in Tsing Yi never spoke, and the chasing monk in gray didn't even say a word of nonsense.
Such a situation couldn't be more obvious. If you run fast, you can escape, and if you chase quickly, you will encircle and annihilate them. There is no need to waste words and strength.
After Chen Beiwang and Mu Qingliu arrived at Qingshui Villa, they stayed on the outskirts of the villa to monitor the movement of the villa, in order to confirm their movements in three days. The Qingyi yamen was raided and killed by the other party.
If Qingyi Yamen hadn't reacted quickly and retreated in time to kill a bloody path, once the opponent's encirclement formed, he would have no chance of survival.
However, at this moment, he just fled down the mountain. There are more than 20 gray-clothed monks chasing him, which is several times their number, and their cultivation level is not lower than them, and there are some monks with higher level among them. It's just that he didn't make a move for the time being, as long as the distance is enough, it is possible to perform a one-hit kill.
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The injured Tsing Yi Yamen monk accidentally staggered and fell to the ground.
He was seriously injured, lost too much blood, and could no longer control his body balance. After he fell, he didn't stand up and run away. Instead, he turned around and jumped backwards. A white horse cut out from the rain, and rushed towards the grey-clothed friar!
He has no possibility of escape, and continuing to make unnecessary efforts will only hurt his companions.
It is a felony in Tsing Yi Yamen to implicate one's companions.
Turning around to kill the enemy, taking the initiative to kill the queen, and winning a ray of life for his companions is a great achievement in Tsing Yi Yamen.
The companion of the swordsman in blue didn't stop in the slightest when he rushed backwards, and he didn't even turn his head. Everyone's pace was faster.
There are only silent tears, sprinkled in the sky, and combined with the rain.
The blue-clothed swordsman who had broken his back attacked and killed one person, desperately killed one person, and then fell face down on the loess, and was blasted into a pulp by the gray-clothed monks who swarmed over.
Several other blue-clothed swordsmen did not get rid of the gray-clothed monk's pursuit because of this.
Seeing that the pursuers were getting closer, the captain among the crowd gritted his teeth, turned around and rushed towards the grey-clothed monk!
As the captain of this team, if the mission fails, he cannot absolve himself of the responsibility. As the captain of this team, he can't help but watch his companion die in front of him.
The leader killed three people.
His strength is naturally stronger than that of the wounded who died first, and he is in full strength, but the opponent has already taken precautions after experiencing the wounded's counterattack. The three of them couldn't fight to death.
But this is not enough.
The two desperately killed five people, but did not cause a fundamental blow to the pursuers, but aroused their hatred.
In the blink of an eye, there were only two swordsmen still running.
The formation of wings on both sides gradually closed, and they were about to encircle them.
The two swordsmen looked at each other, and each felt the determination of the other.
They suddenly stopped, turned around, drew their swords, and ran forward!
Since he couldn't escape and died anyway, it would be better to face the enemy and fight to death than to be attacked from behind.
Seeing that the two of them dared to turn their heads, the gray-clothed monks were all furious and jumped out one after another, their spells were about to strike.
When a drop of rain fell on the back of the Tsing Yi Swordsman's sword, a strange syllable suddenly sounded in the wilderness.
As soon as the syllables are sounded, they are continuous, like a clear spring pouring down from a mountain stream, like a big river flowing endlessly.
Night Breeze suddenly became extremely cold.
The heavy rain that fell condensed into ice in the mid-air, and fell like hailstones, making shallow pits on the ground, falling on the monk in gray, and flying like arrows, bringing out bloody flowers!
The muddy water under the feet of all the gray-clothed monks instantly turned into ice, freezing their feet, and then quickly spread to their legs, waists, hands, and necks!
Just in an instant, those who leaped in the air fell heavily; those who raised their feet and flew, fell head-on;
Every gray-clothed friar has become an ice sculpture, and no gray-clothed friar can move!
Before their whole bodies were covered in frost, they raised their heads and looked forward in amazement, and saw a graceful and ethereal figure on the top of the forest not far away, playing the jade flute in their hands.
They couldn't see the man's face clearly, but they remembered the graceful posture of the other party.
Only a few gray-clothed monks heard the sound of the flute, and a legend that had disappeared in the rivers and lakes for several years suddenly appeared in their minds, which filled them with despair; Shout out the ghosts!
The two swordsmen in Tsing Yi turned around and cupped their fists to bow down: "Greetings, Grand Commander!"
She put down the jade flute on her lips, looked through the deep and heavy rain curtain, and looked in the direction of the brightly lit Qingshui Villa, her tone was colder than this extremely cold night: "Whoever dares to touch my Tsingyi yamen, They will pay the price of remembering for a lifetime!"