Cao Han's eyes, sharp like swords, firmly stared at Yang Zhenshan, his intention to kill unrestrainedly released.
The camp was attacked, tens of thousands of soldiers suffered defeat and scattered, and he had no idea when the Northern barbarian cavalry would come chasing; Cao Han had no intention to waste his time here spouting nonsense with Yang Zhenshan.
Had they not fled too hurriedly, even failing to carry basic provisions, he would not have bothered with Yang Zhenshan's supply convoy.
Yang Zhenshan too stared back at him, their gazes clashing in the air, instantly rendering the atmosphere tense, very much like swords drawn and bows bent.
"Damn it, it's your good fortune that the garrison General is willing to accept you, yet you dare to refuse!"
"Drop your weapons and stand aside obediently!"
Cao Han himself did not speak, but one of his men, whether a trusted aide or a house servant, spoke up first.