The air on the hill was still thick with tension, even though the clash of steel had ceased. The metallic tang of blood evaporating from the dusty ground mixed with the savory scent of leftover KFC fried chicken bones Jo Fan had just been chewing on.Down below, the Coalition forces were still roaring like madmen. They celebrated the God of War’s retreat as if they’d just won a world war. Victory horns blared, one after another.Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei ascended the hill, approaching Jo Fan. The three historical titans were still catching their breath. Their armor was dented, their horses wheezing and caked in blood, but their eyes were ablaze.“Hahahaha! Did you see that, Advisor Jo?!” Zhang Fei’s laughter boomed as he slapped his own wound-covered chest. “That three-surnamed slave ran off with his tail between his legs! If Second Brother hadn't interfered, I would’ve turned his chest into a shish kebab!”“Third Brother, don’t be arrogant. Your hands were trembling trying to b

A thick fog shrouded the trees like a giant burial shroud. The dusk air around the Bian River valley felt damp, cold, and smelled of moss. Liu Bei’s small army moved like a line of shadows, their horses’ steps muffled by the muddy ground and decaying leaves. At the very front of the column, Jo Fan suddenly pulled his reins. “Stop. Everyone stop!” Jo Fan hissed sharply, raising his right hand. Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, who were right behind him, reflexively reined in their horses. The sound of scraping leather armor and the heavy breathing of horses broke the silence for a moment before the three-thousand-man formation behind them froze as well. “What is it, Master Jo?” Liu Bei asked in a hushed voice. His eyes scanned the fog ahead, searching for a threat, but he saw nothing. “Do you sense something?” Jo Fan didn’t answ

Atop the steep cliff flanking the Bian River, the night wind carried the nauseating, metallic smell of blood from the valley floor. Jo Fan lay flat on his stomach at the cliff’s edge, his fingers digging into tree roots until they were raw. His eyes were wide with horror as he watched the scene below through his system’s screen, which magnified the area like a drone camera. The iron-masked giant had just begun to swing his flail, ready to smash the head of Cao Cao, who was sprawled helplessly in the sea of mud. “General Guan! Go down now! Save that shorty in the red robe, quick!” Jo Fan yelled in a panic, turning to the God of War crouching beside him. Guan Yu gazed down into the dark, blood-misted valley. His jaw tightened, his sharp eyes calculating the distance and angle with military precision. “It is impossible, Advisor,” Guan Yu replied, his voice heavy and f

On the edge of the cliff overlooking the Bian River valley, the night air was thick with smoke and the stench of blood. General Xu Rong stood frozen. He rubbed his eyes, which were still watery, red, and bleeding from broken capillaries caused by the flashbang. “Magic… what kind of dark magic is this?!” Xu Rong growled, his voice trembling. As his vision slowly came back into focus, the scene in the valley below made his skin crawl. His ten thousand elite Xiliang troops had been reduced to a sea of chaos. With no enemy command, they were cutting each other down. The blind panic had caused Dong Zhuo’s soldiers to kill their own comrades in the darkness that had returned to the valley. Blood flooded the mud, but it wasn’t the blood of the Wei cavalry. Even worse, in the midst of the chaos, his primary target had vanished. The man in the maroon robe, whose head was worth ten thousand gold piec

Creek… groan… creek… The sound of wooden wheels grinding against a rocky road was the first thing to greet Jo Fan’s consciousness. His head swayed with the rhythm of the slow-moving cart. As he slowly opened his eyes, the sunlight stabbed at his retinas, making him groan and squint. “Ugh… why does my dorm room ceiling look like the sky…” Jo Fan mumbled hoarsely. “Praise the Sky God! The Advisor is awake!” an elderly voice exclaimed nearby. Jo Fan turned his head with difficulty. Sitting next to him was an old man with a thin white beard, dressed in the shabby clothes of a village physician. The physician’s wrinkled fingers were still on Jo Fan’s left wrist, checking his pulse with a look of absolute confusion. “This master’s pulse… it’s very strange,” the physician muttered