White light flashed, Song Yan found that he had been down-to-earth, eyes quickly swept around, but into a wilderness, time should fall, because the wilderness grass has begun to dry up.

And he's in a small hill with a wide field of vision.

Just then, on the official road, a speeding carriage came into view. Four forty-year-olds were driving, wearing a set of black iron armor, blood stain on their faces, firm and fierce eyes and fierce killing breath on their bodies.

Behind the carriage was a group of similarly armored soldiers, fifty-two in number, all of whom were pale, dull-eyed, obviously malnourished and hopeless for the future.

Perspective magic...