It felt as if a century had passed before the rain of arrows finally ceased.

There was no wind in the valley, but William Carter felt a chill all over his body. He reached out to touch his clothes, which were already soaked through with sweat, as if he had just been caught in a downpour.

All the strength in his body seemed to drain away at once. William Carter felt dizzy and his vision blurred; unable to stand, he slowly slid down to sit against the cliff wall.

He wanted to catch his breath and rest for a moment, but his opponents gave him no such chance.

Boom, boom, boom—thunderous, rhythmic crashes echoed from the mouth of the valley, shaking the entire ground with their force.

A trace of astonishment flashed across William Carter’s face. He turned to look toward the valley entrance, and what he saw made his heart sink. At the mouth of the valley, a massive formation of soldiers clad in silver armor marched in perfect unison, advancing step by step.

The densely packed, gleaming armor reflected the sunlight like a giant mirror, so bright it was impossible to look at directly.

At the same time, an invisible yet very real pressure swept over him, making his heart race and leaving him breathless.

William Carter had never felt such pressure before.

There was no need to get closer to count; just watching from afar and hearing the soul-shaking footsteps, it was easy to guess the enemy’s numbers. This formation had at least ten thousand men. With so many people, even if they didn’t use weapons—if each one just punched or kicked him—he’d be reduced to a pulp.

He was someone who had weathered many storms, who could remain calm and composed even in the most perilous situations. But now, he panicked—utterly and completely—because he knew very well that, given the current circumstances, there was absolutely no chance of survival. William Carter licked his parched lips, sweat the size of beans dripping down his temples. Instinctively, he pushed himself backward along the ground.

Unfortunately, behind him was the hard, icy cliff wall—there was no way out.

Sigh! William Carter let out a breath, shook his head, and gave a bitter smile. It was truly unexpected: he had survived countless gunfights in the underworld, only to die now on this damned cold-weapon battlefield. Even more ironic, he didn’t even know how he’d gotten caught up in this—he was going to die without ever understanding why.

Was this heaven’s punishment for all the killing he’d done? He mocked himself at the thought. Just then, he suddenly noticed that the ground beneath his hand felt a bit soft.

The valley was full of rocks, not a blade of grass grew, and there was no soil—how could there be anything soft? He quickly looked down and saw that behind him, the cliff wall was riddled with cracks, and all the blood flowing over had seeped into those crevices. Clearly, there was a hollow space inside.

Realizing this, William Carter felt as if he’d discovered a new continent, his face lighting up with joy. He grabbed a broken spear and thrust it into a crack. With a muffled sound, the entire spearhead sank in. If it were solid rock, there was no way he could have stabbed it in so deep with his current strength.

So it really was hollow—there was a cave here! His heart raced as he gritted his teeth, propped up his exhausted body, and began desperately digging at the loose stones at the base of the wall with both hands and feet.

Clatter, clatter!

Soon, he cleared away the loose stones, revealing a hole at the base of the wall, about the size of a dog’s den. It was pitch black inside; he couldn’t see a thing. The opening was too small, and he wanted to make it bigger, but the surrounding cliff was too solid—even after breaking the spearhead, he couldn’t widen it at all.

William Carter looked at the small hole, barely a foot long, then glanced back at the enemy formation drawing ever closer. There was no time to hesitate. He lowered himself and forced his way into the hole.

Though he was thin, the hole was still too narrow for him. As he squeezed inside, the sharp edges of the rocks cut through his clothes and deeply scratched his skin.

It hurt—a lot. Sweat poured down his face, and tears streamed from his eyes, but he dared not cry out, not even make a sound.

The enemy soldiers were already very close. Because the valley floor was dim and he was pressed against the base of the cliff, perhaps they hadn’t seen him yet. But if he made a noise, he would surely draw their attention.

He didn’t dare take the risk and could only grit his teeth and endure.

When he finally squeezed through the entrance and into the cave, he felt completely spent, his sweat stinging the fresh cuts on his skin.

William Carter sat weakly on the ground, gasping for breath, while surveying the cave. By the faint light filtering in from the entrance, he saw that the cave was actually quite spacious—at least compared to the narrow opening.

The cave was a round tunnel, but he couldn’t see how deep it went. What he did notice was that the blood flowing in from the entrance continued to trickle deeper inside.

He hadn’t rested long when suddenly, screams of agony rang out from outside.

Startled, he quickly lay flat on the ground and peeked out through the entrance to see what was happening.

The soldiers in silver armor had already entered the valley floor. The formation of over ten thousand men looked like a giant beast of steel, mercilessly trampling the corpses on the ground. Whenever they found a surviving soldier—wounded or not—they would bring their spears down in unison, stabbing them into a bloody mess.