Zhou Village had seen soldiers before—shouting men with rusted swords and cracked armor, too hungry to be dangerous for long. Hell, they've even seen the Yelan army pouring through the mountains like a landslide. Those who survived the Yelan did so only because the army couldn't be bothered with the villagers unless it was to relieve boredom or stress.
But the men who rode in this time were not like either group.
Their armor was such a dark maroon color that, if it hadn't been polished to a mirror's gleam, one would think that they were still covered in blood from their latest conquest. Their formation was silent.
Precise.
Not a single horse stepped out of line.
The Red Demons had arrived.
Villagers lined the edge of the square, gathered under the low arc of the entrance gate, and the branches of the withered cypress trees. They said nothing as the cloud of dust kicked up by the horse's hooves got closer. They simply watched.
