"What are the odds?"
"…Fifty percent!"
Zheng Xiu spoke as he donned his war helm. With a sharp whistle, his warhorse trotted over happily. Zheng Xiu took his saber from the saddle, fastened it to his waist, and mounted up, galloping to block Zheng Haoran's path.
"Zhang San, requesting permission to join the battle!"
As Zheng Xiu cupped his fist in a salute, the plates of his armor rattled, producing a sharp, powerful sound.
From beneath the tiger-shaped faceplate, two fierce glares shot out from the eye slits. Zheng Haoran's voice was stern. "Go back!"
"Zhang San cannot obey, I'm afraid!"
Zheng Xiu remained motionless, still holding his salute.
Old Li grew anxious and rode up beside him. "You foolish boy, are you trying to defy a direct order?"
