Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Song Mingcheng's mind went blank.

He never imagined that one day someone would hold a knife to his neck, and that the knife would appear out of thin air, with the person holding it standing a hundred meters away, ready to take his life at any moment.

He never imagined he would be in danger when he gave the order.

With an encirclement of 30,000 men, four armed helicopters, forty-five snipers, and firepower covering 3,000 men, he felt that it was impossible for the Song Dynasty to break through to the vicinity of the command vehicle.

That's why he dared to park the command vehicle only three kilometers away from the ruins.

He dared to stand on the command platform and personally oversee the battle.

He dared to speak to the Song Dynasty in a condescending tone, saying, "If you don't listen to a toast, you'll have to drink a penalty cup."

Now he regrets it.

He should have parked the command vehicle ten kilometers away, hidden inside an armored vehicle, and directed operations remotely via a drone screen.

But it's too late to regret it now.

The Song Dynasty was right in front of him.

The migrant worker, covered in blood, walked step by step toward the command vehicle, with the three-meter-tall blood-red Asura behind him moving along with him, leaving a blood-red footprint on the gravel ground with each step.

The white light of the searchlight shone on Song Chao's face, and Song Mingcheng could clearly see that there was no ripple in his dark red eyes.

That wasn't anger.

Anger is predictable.

It was cold.

The cold is unpredictable.

You never know what someone who's this cold-blooded will do next.

Would he kill someone?

Of course he will.

He killed nearly two hundred people, and didn't care about killing a few more.

Song Mingcheng's palms were sweaty.

He suddenly thought of something.

If his own men open fire now, Song Chao will die, and he will die too.

If his subordinates hadn't fired, and the Song Dynasty had kidnapped him to escape the encirclement, and he had been held accountable afterward, his political life would have ended because, as the supreme commander of this operation, his command error had led to his kidnapping.

Even if he survives by sheer luck, a military court awaits him.

He was met with a barrage of criticism from the news media.

The entire nation was ready to condemn him.

What would be the best outcome?

Someone came to rescue him.

He believed that someone would come to rescue him.

He is the deputy director of the operations department, a general with three silver stars on his shoulders, and a core member of the National Center for Response to Abnormal Affairs.

The country will not abandon him.

Han Qiming will not give up on him.

The Political Affairs Committee will not abandon him.

Therefore, all he needed to do was remain silent, not provoke the Song Dynasty, and wait for rescue.

As long as he doesn't speak, the situation won't get out of control.

His men wouldn't dare fire unless he gave the order.

As long as he is alive, rescue will definitely come.

Song Mingcheng shut his mouth, even deliberately softening his breathing, afraid that the rise and fall of his throat would touch the tip of the blood-stained blade.

He's faking his death.

The Song Dynasty saw his reaction.

From the subtle sensation transmitted back from the blood-stained blade on Song Mingcheng's neck, he could feel the man's Adam's apple trembling slightly, the blood flow in his carotid artery fluctuating, and the amount of sweat secreted on his skin increasing dramatically.

These physiological reactions were perceived by the Song Dynasty as clearly as words written on paper.

fear.

He was afraid.

What he feared was death.

Song Chao's lips curled slightly.

This man had just stood on the command platform and said in a condescending tone, "Those team members have been killed by the Song Dynasty," and ordered a barrage of fire, personally sending three hundred unconscious comrades into the hail of bullets from their own side.

Now it's his turn.

Why doesn't he pretend to be dead?

Why not just say, "I've already been killed by the Song Dynasty, don't worry about me, continue the attack"?

He could sacrifice three hundred ordinary team members, but he couldn't bear to sacrifice himself.

He could order his unconscious comrades to be shot, but he didn't dare move his Adam's apple, for fear that the blade would cut his own skin.

"Is your life more valuable than the lives of those three hundred team members?"

The voice of the Song Dynasty rang in Song Mingcheng's ears.

The voice was very low, and only Song Mingcheng could hear it.

Song Mingcheng's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say "that's not how it is," but as soon as the muscles in his throat moved, the tip of the blood-stained blade moved forward a millimeter, piercing the outermost layer of skin on his neck.

A trickle of blood seeped from beneath the tip of the knife, flowing down his neck and into his collar.

He immediately froze.

Song Chao did not look at Song Mingcheng again, but turned to look around.

Behind the shield formation, more than 5,000 soldiers still had their guns pointed at him, but no one dared to fire.

The armed helicopters were still circling overhead, and the cannons were still ready to fire, but the pilots had already taken their fingers off the triggers.

The sniper's scope was still locked on his temple, but without the order to fire, no one dared to pull the trigger.

The group is leaderless.

Eight thousand pairs of eyes stared blankly at the eight commanders, their throats locked in a bloody grip.

Song Chao raised his left hand.

The blood mist that filled the air condensed again, but this time it wasn't a knife that condensed, but chains.

Eight chains woven from congealed blood, each as thick as a wrist, covered with dense, blood-red patterns.

One end of the chain was connected to the blood shield that was spinning around Song Chao, while the other end flew out as if it had a life of its own and wrapped around the waists of the eight people on the command platform.

The chains tightened suddenly.

Eight people were simultaneously pulled off the ground, tracing eight arcs in mid-air, and dragged to within three meters of Song Chao.

Their bodies were suspended in mid-air, with blood-red chains wrapped around their waists and blood-red blades hanging from their necks, like eight moths entangled in a spider web, slowly rotating around Song Chao's body.

"Anyone who dares to stop me will die first."

The Song Dynasty spoke up.

He lifted his foot and stepped onto the rubble of the ruins, walking step by step out of the encirclement.

The eight hostages were dragged by the blood chain, moving synchronously within a three-meter radius around him, always maintaining a fixed distance.

Their existence was the most perfect shield for the Song Dynasty.

The gun barrels of more than 5,000 soldiers around them moved with the Song Dynasty soldiers, but not one of them dared to fire.

The sniper's scope slowly rotated in sync with Song Chao's movements, the crosshairs swaying back and forth on his temples, unable to lock on.

Armed helicopters hovered overhead, their cannons aimed at Song Chao, but the pilots dared not fire, because the eight hostages were within three meters of Song Chao, and if the cannons opened fire, the hostages would be torn to pieces.

"Get out of the way."