Mundo Mítico dos Três Reinos

The towering peak shrouded in clouds and mist soared skyward, its summit a battlefield where countless warriors clad in armor of every hue and wielding diverse weapons surged forward, wave after wave, toward the mountain’s heart. At the very center, a creature of myth—a winged dragon, fierce and sharp-edged, its maw filled with countless razor teeth—rampaged with a roar that shook the heavens. This was the Celestial Dragon. Its claws, swift and lethal, swept through the ranks, turning those before it into a storm of blood, as easily as slicing through tofu. Despite its immense size, the dragon’s body was streaked with blood, bearing countless wounds, yet the aura it exuded was as tangible as iron, slowing the warriors’ weapons as though they moved through water, their actions sluggish and labored.

This was the Celestial Dragon Peak of the Celestial Dragon Valley.

Blood-stained skies hung over a battlefield littered with broken limbs and dying steeds, the wind itself heavy with the scent of carnage, as if hell had descended upon the earth. Yet the warriors paid no heed, charging forward with no fear of death—some on horseback, their lances raised, others on foot, some archers loosing arrows to suppress the beast from afar, others with battered shields pressed ahead, their courage undimmed. The ferocity of battle mattered little to the soldiers, as if each were resigned to die.

Lin Mu was among the charging ranks, leading a contingent of his own territory’s soldiers in this desperate attempt to conquer the boss. His former employer had always treated him