A soldier who has experienced ninety-nine thousand lives and deaths will surely become a king in one lifetime. The nine thousand nine hundred eagles in the queen bee's nest will eventually spread their wings and fly. They are the common carriers of consciousness, just like three hundred Spartan warriors rowing into a giant ship on the Nile. He became the cicada. Use your hard horn to break the shell of death a hundred million times. It meditates with its wings, and stirs up halos to disrupt your direction.

The bullet flew past his cheek like every letter of every commandment in the Quran passed down for thousands of years. He was never afraid. Even after using his life nine hundred times, he finally learned to dance with gunpowder. For the holy city of Jerusalem, even if it is just a bronze armor, she must embrace Mary again and again. He imagined countless times that he was the god of Asia and the god of the century. He drank wine with Christ and played chess with Buddha. His roar was like the bark of a devil's rabid dog.

He had long dreamed of dying in battle. Every experience of death kept playing in his dreams. He dreamed that he became a soldier ten thousand times and attacked the enemy's heart in nine thousand nine hundred ways, but he won death nine thousand nine hundred times. He still has ninety-nine lives left in this world to perform miracles. He believed that the nine thousand princesses in heaven would sing the praises of salvation to his heroic soul. His selfless charge only serves to lift the veil of death from the face of Allah.