Section Twenty-Nine

The thunderous rhythm of iron hooves shook the earth, the massive vibrations echoing across both banks of the Hutuo River.

The sky was dim, blanketed in heavy clouds, and the air hung thick and sultry.

Han General Ma Ying, commander of the Pacify-the-Barbarians Army, led his cavalry along the official road beside the Hutuo River, trailing close behind the Mongol horsemen.

The Han 6th Cavalry Division was stationed at the eastern front of the Boming base. According to the original operational plan, this unit from Liaodong was tasked with guarding the eastern flank of the Han army, protecting the two waterways between the Hutuo and Muma Rivers toward Dingxiang, while simultaneously monitoring the enemy. Half an hour ago, his unit had received orders from the high command: a crack force of Mongol iron cavalry had departed from Xinzhou, invaded the Han encampment, and was pressing hard toward Dingxiang. The 6th Division was commanded to stop them.

Due to the urgency, Ma Ying did not know which specific Mongol unit lay ahead, nor their exact numbers, nor whether they carried support weapons like cannons. But it mattered little. As the most renowned general of the Han army, leading its most arrogant unit, the General and his men had every reason to look down upon any foe. In fact, not long ago, this very unit had launched a counter-offensive against overwhelming odds, crushing a Manchu-Mongol coalition several times their size. Since the pacification of Liaodong, they had never ceased their campaign. Their iron hooves had trampled the vast landscapes of Liaodong, reaching the wild northern plains, the cold northern seas, the majestic Shanhai Pass in the west, and the Korean Peninsula in the east. Whether it was the world-renowned Eight Banners cavalry or the savage tribes of the deep mountains, none could help but tremble before the sabers and bows of the 6th Division. Ma Ying and his men did not believe there was anyone in this world capable of defeating them.

This was a clash of aces.

Dust billowed into the sky, and the light grew even dimmer. In the distance, several cavalrymen holding high torches galloped straight toward the 6th Division’s command post. Ma Ying gently scolded his mount and pulled the reins; the warhorse tossed its head stubbornly, slowing down with great reluctance. Without a word of command, the personal guard cavalry behind him slowed their pace, while the outermost unit turned their horses toward the nearby hills to stand watch.

"What's happening ahead?" Ma Ying asked loudly as the messenger officer approached, rubbing his eyes.

"Reporting to General Ma—Lord Murong Wu commands me to inform you: our vanguard has engaged the enemy's rearguard!"

"Where?!" Ma Ying could not help but look up at the sky. He found himself holding the enemy in higher regard; any unit with the guts to fight a field battle against pursuers was no ordinary force. Could it be the elite main force of the Tatars? He turned to the messenger. "How many of them are there?"

"Five miles ahead—the group we see is at least two thousand, and there are many torches flickering in the distance. We estimate at least five or six thousand!"

Ma Ying nodded with satisfaction. That his vanguard brigade, led by Murong Wu, dared to attack a force several times its size with only two thousand cavalry—they were truly worthy of being his men. "Did little Wu send you to ask for reinforcements?"

In the darkness, the messenger officer grinned, his white teeth flashing in the torchlight. "No, Lord Murong told the brothers behind to rest a while. Our brigade will go in first to take a look; there might be an ambush."

Ma Ying burst into laughter. To know there might be an ambush and still want to charge in—what kind of heroic spirit was that? Looking across the world, apart from his own 6th Cavalry, what other unit would dare be so arrogant and contemptuous of all? He laughed and told the messenger, "Good lad! Then go back and tell that boy: we’ll just have a bite of dry rations, and then we’ll join him!" As he spoke, he reached into his tunic, fished out a small gourd of spirits, took several deep gulps, and let out a long breath, belching with satisfaction. "Damn it, that’s refreshing!" He tossed the gourd to the messenger. "You’re not bad yourself—it’s yours."

The messenger didn’t reply. He whipped his horse, which reared and let out a long, piercing neigh before turning and galloping madly into the night. In the distance, he could be seen tilting his head back to take a long drink before passing it to a comrade, shouting his respects: "Good wine! Thank you for the gift, General!"

Ma Ying stood in his stirrups, watching the small group of cavalry disappear into the gloom before finally looking away. That subordinate had suited his taste; he was good material, though he had forgotten to ask his name.

***

"How goes the battle?" Ma Ying asked, his expression unchanged as he turned to the arriving messenger.

"Re—reporting, General..." The messenger gasped for air, his voice intermittent. "Reporting, General... there are many Tatars... and they fight well. We have been surrounded. Lord Murong requests you to lead the army forward immediately, so we can strike them from both sides!"

"Many?" Ma Ying paused. "How many is 'many'?"

"Lord Murong estimates... the Tatars might be over ten thousand!" The messenger’s breathing steadied as he spoke in a low voice. "And they are the Xuexie Army of the Dzungars! They are fierce!"

"Fierce?" Ma Ying suddenly cut him off, asking coldly, "Did you take a heavy loss?"

The messenger’s face turned grim, a flicker of shame crossing his features. He fidgeted with the horse's mane and lowered his head. "...Yes. But there are simply too many Tatars, and Lord Murong Wu..."

Ma Ying waved his hand. "I know. Little Wu has done his best." He hesitated for a moment before saying, "These Tatars are no ordinary lot; they are our true match. Keep your head up and go to the rear for some water."

Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed the reins, vaulted onto his horse, and shouted to the hills, "Mount up!" With a sharp crack of his whip, he pointed toward the battlefield. "Follow me!"

The silent mountain road erupted into chaos. The Han cavalry leapt onto their horses; the sound of clashing armor and weaponry filled the air. Officers shouted orders in low voices as they reformed their ranks. Three seconds later, the formation was set. The Han commander took the lead, charging at the very front with his personal guard battalion.

The thundering iron hooves immediately drew the attention of the Mongol army. Just as Ma Ying’s vanguard reached the hill and before they could survey the battlefield, a large body of Mongol cavalry broke off from their center and surged forward along the flanks.

Dust rose in clouds, and countless torches glowed red within the haze. Figures were indistinguishable from a few yards away. Ma Ying narrowed his eyes; ahead, a forest of sabers appeared. The Mongol army had launched the first charge, their lances whistling through the air at high speed. Thousands of iron cavalry let out shrill, piercing shrieks of "Yo-ho! Yo-ho!" and lunged forward like a violent storm, closing the distance in an instant.

With a soft "poof," a rain of arrows struck. The first few rows of Han cavalry were caught off guard and fell instantly. Ma Ying’s personal guards immediately rushed forward, raising their shields to cover their commander. The captain of the guards roared, "Damn it all! Fire back... shoot these bastards to death!"

Hearing the order, the front-line guards dismounted, bows in hand, and engaged in a volley with the Mongol cavalry below the hill. Arrows flew in a chaotic dance, and cries of agony filled the air. Archers on the front line were frequently pierced through the chest, dragged away in pools of blood.

Horns blared, and the Mongol war drums thundered. The Mongol forces surrounding Murong Wu’s unit shouted from all sides, launching a frenzied assault toward the center. The sound of hooves shook the heavens, bowstrings twanged, and horses neighed in madness. Amidst the swirling yellow sand, the Han battle flags could be seen struggling back and forth within the fray, holding their ground in a fight to the death.

"Report!" Several scouts fought their way up the hill, pulling their reins to salute from horseback. The lead officer reached them and shouted, "Reporting to General Ma, we have investigated—"

A long arrow struck the officer in the back of the head, piercing his helmet instantly. The sharp, diamond-shaped tip protruded from his mouth, the long shaft still trailing bits of his tongue. Blood sprayed, dyeing the horse’s head crimson. The officer’s eyes widened, staring blankly at the arrowhead in his mouth, his throat emitting a gurgling, muffled sound. After struggling for a few moments, he collapsed from his horse.

Ma Ying’s expression remained indifferent. He raised his whip and pointed to the soldier behind the fallen officer. "You! Continue!"

"Yes!" The scout glanced at the corpse and rode forward, bowing. "Reporting to the General, we were ordered to scout the surroundings of the battlefield. It is confirmed: aside from this engagement, there are no enemy ambushes within a thirty-mile radius. The main Tatar force is entirely here!"

"Did you count them in the rear? Which tribe are they from, and how many are there?"

"Reporting to the General, they are the Xuexie Army of the Dzungar core. There are about ten thousand of them!" The scout bowed slightly and pointed his whip toward the central battlefield. "Aside from those below and the ones besieging Lord Murong, there are still three or four thousand in the Tatar rearguard who have not yet joined the fight!" The scout hesitated, wanting to say more but holding back.

"What is it?"

"...Reporting to the General," the scout gritted his teeth. "When we were retreating, we saw the brothers under Lord Murong... Those damn Tatars are hacking our wounded to pieces, and they are taking the flesh from the corpses..."

"Go on!" Ma Ying’s eyebrows twitched, and the long scar on his face contorted into a grimace, terrifying the guards into absolute silence.

"Yes, yes..." The scout nodded frantically. "...They are skewering the pieces of flesh onto their sabers and eating them while they fight..."

"Very good... Heh, good fellows! The sons of bitches..." Ma Ying laughed in his rage. He waved for the scout to withdraw and looked back. Behind him, shadows loomed; the eight thousand horsemen of the Fourth Brigade had all arrived. A long line of men stretched along the small hill, every one of them with their sabers drawn, waiting only for his command.

"Pass the word—leave no one alive. Kill them all!" Ma Ying sneered at his staff officer. He drew his saber, whirled it through the air with a flourish, and charged down the hill.

"Kill!" Eight thousand iron cavalry roared in unison, following their commander closely, plunging into the Mongol army like a burst dam.