"Brothers!"
Wang Zhi climbed onto the city wall, the Mo Blade raised high reflecting golden light under the dazzling sun, his voice overpowering the battle drums of the enemy army, impassioned and stirring:
"To tell you the truth!"
"Has the Commander perished!"
"We don't know either!"
"The Commander indeed lost contact with us not long ago!"
"However, the predecessor of the Beiliang Army was the Eight Camps!"
"When did the Eight Camps become such cowards?!"
"Let alone that the Commander hasn't necessarily met any mishaps!"
"Even if he truly died, are you going to open the city and surrender?!"
"Do you think you're acting like traitors?!"
"No, we, the Beiliang Army, are fighting the world, for the fathers and elders of Beiliang, for your parents, for your relatives!"
"As long as we survive today, the Central Plains are ours!"
"I don't require you to die in battle!"
