Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms

It was the dawn of the tenth century AD, and the magnificent giant god that was the Tang Dynasty collapsed with a roar in its disintegration, shattering the beautiful rivers and mountains into bloody fragments.

The Central Plains became a bloody slaughterhouse for professional warriors. The emperor's crown was nothing more than a plaything in the eyes of proud and fierce generals, easily changed hands at any moment. Every dawn could be accompanied by a bloody coup d'état of regicide and usurpation.

The hooves of the Shatuo cavalry shattered the ice of the Yellow River. The black-clad Crow Army swept through Guanzhong like a tide of eternal night. In the face of this illiterate and barbaric military might, the thousand-year accumulation of aristocratic integrity proved so fragile.

The military governors frantically harvested orphans to establish their own armies, attempting to resist the ubiquitous betrayal with this twisted father-son contract. But in the face of overwhelming power, even the deepest blood oaths often could not survive a single night full of killing intent.

Heavy infantry armor trudged across the scorched earth. Heavy axes and Modao swords collided in battle formations, producing dull sounds of flesh and blood being torn apart. This was a violent era of heavy armor and heavy weapons, where every inch of territory was soaked with the dry bones of nameless, fierce soldiers.

The southern regimes, clinging to their territories, dreamt their final spring dreams amidst the misty rain. Exquisite porcelain and elegant prose could not conceal the restless steel blades. This deformed prosperity, juxtaposed with the desolate wasteland of white bones in the north, created the most extreme visual tear of this era.

In this power battle royale with no rules, even the lowest-born butcher, refugee, or even slave, as long as they dared to wield their blades and fight desperately in the Shura field, had a chance to don the blood-stained dragon robe under the setting sun tomorrow.

When the setting sun shone on the rusty palace gates of Kaifeng, what you heard was no longer the clear songs of the prosperous Tang Dynasty, but the most desperate roars of countless dry bones in the soil, about this era of warriors.

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