The vanguard stands in three rows at the front. Armourless, they stand their ground. Brave and loyal. Behind them stands the main body in battle formation of 11 columns. Clad in full body armour, they stand proud and strong. Confident that All Under Heaven belongs to them. Their hands wield missing weapons, probably plundered by tomb raiders who decided to spare the statues rather than risk the wrath of their spirits.
An infantry stands out from the rest, from 2000 of them. He stands upright. Stiff. Hands placed straight at his sides. Tense. His face is unique like so many of the others. He is young. Barely and adult. Boyish. Eighteen, nineteen or so. His furrowed eyebrows betray his nervousness. Possibly anxiety. Mixed with a pang of sadness.
Maybe he had joined the army to buy medicine for his dying mother. Maybe he had left his lover with a promise of a prosperous future. Maybe he enlisted in the army to see the world. For fame and glory. But only having just realized that he had gotten himself into. Maybe. We shall never know. But he lives on till today. His face a familiar haunting. A reminder to all who gaze at his face of what we all have to go through.
After all these centuries, they still speak to us. Whispering their lives to those willing to listen. And through all these millennia, their war cries can still be heard. The thundering of their feet under their heavy bronze armour. And the clash of bloodthirsty weapons. In a mad bid to unite All Under Heaven.
An infantry stands out from the rest, from 2000 of them. He stands upright. Stiff. Hands placed straight at his sides. Tense. His face is unique like so many of the others. He is young. Barely and adult. Boyish. Eighteen, nineteen or so. His furrowed eyebrows betray his nervousness. Possibly anxiety. Mixed with a pang of sadness.
Maybe he had joined the army to buy medicine for his dying mother. Maybe he had left his lover with a promise of a prosperous future. Maybe he enlisted in the army to see the world. For fame and glory. But only having just realized that he had gotten himself into. Maybe. We shall never know. But he lives on till today. His face a familiar haunting. A reminder to all who gaze at his face of what we all have to go through.
After all these centuries, they still speak to us. Whispering their lives to those willing to listen. And through all these millennia, their war cries can still be heard. The thundering of their feet under their heavy bronze armour. And the clash of bloodthirsty weapons. In a mad bid to unite All Under Heaven.
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