In the training ground of the front camp, two thousand soldiers stood with spears in hand, wearing black armor and cloaks of the same color, like two thousand upright pines.
Evan Zhao held his sword with one hand, his eyes like lightning, scanning the four people standing at the head of the team, Wei Qing. After a while, he raised his right arm, and immediately a troop presented the Han flag.
There was a dull sound. The flagpole wrapped with copper wire was wedged into the ground. The flag with the word "Han" embedded on it was torn by the wind, making a rustling sound.
"Wei Qing, Zhao Po Nu, Zhao Xin, Gongsun Ao, you all step forward." Evan Zhao held the flagpole and pointed out four people one after another.
"promise"
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