Ancient Sword Dreaming Souls’ initial charge was almost unstoppable, tearing through Horizon Sea Pavilion’s defenses with our frontline.

His sword smeared with blood, Xu Yang turned around and called out, "Have two people deal with their archer party!"

He pointed. As expected, on the small hill, about 1000 Horizon Sea Pavilion archers were constantly unleashing Volleys, their powerful arrows raining on the crowd below, killing many of our armored players.

Wolf Fang said, "Brother Yang, they have the terrain advantage. We can’t charge up. We'll die by the time we reach halfway. What should we do?"

Xu Yang gritted his teeth. "Charge anyway, we have to get them. Whoever has the balls, go!"

The melee fighters looked at each other. Having reached tacit understanding, two walked out of the mob. Both of them wore heavy armor. One wielded a battle axe, the other a broadsword. They were the new members I had accepted—High Fighting Spirits and Eighteen Steeds...