Battle of Laling (2)
I couldn't launch a disciplined cavalry charge like the previous assault. The enemy numbers were simply too overwhelming for shock tactics. Once a charge lost its momentum, the cavalry would be reduced to fodder for the infantry—that was the iron law of the battlefield. Facing a wall wasn't about smashing into it head-on; it was about digging out the foundations.
So the weapon for this fight would be the moon blade. Not to pierce the enemy's center and strike from behind, but to peel away the outer layers, slice after slice, buying time. Yes, my objective was to stall for time.
“Ready?”
“Yes!”
Hoo… My entire body was trembling. Even combining my previous life and this one, I'd never witnessed a gathering of this scale. World Cup finals might hold around a hundred thousand, but rarely more, and it was uncommon for ten thousand soldiers to converge on a single battlefield. Moreover, since I hadn't lived through a world war—only dealing with localized rebels—this sight hit even harder.
Numbers were violence incarnate. The sheer hostility radiating from that swarm of zerglings would have been difficult to withstand even with my heaven-sent physique.
“Tsk…”
I touched the Jincheonroe inside my coat once more. It calmed me. I lit a straw in the fire pot, then ignited the fuse wrapped around the grenade. Holding it until the flame stabilized, I hurled it toward the Yellow Turban horde.
“Who dares challenge this living flame!”
Here's a tip for any modern person who might time-slip into this primitive ancient era like I did: War is all about momentum. If you can display that momentum, it doesn't matter whether you use modern intervention or advanced technology—use whatever you have. Because surviving comes first.
— BOOM!
With a thunderous roar never before heard in this era, dozens of Yellow Turbans were blasted into the sky. Each Jincheonroe weighed only one kilogram, but its visual impact was devastating. The act of a 'person' creating 'flames' with their 'bare hands' was completely outside the 'common sense' of this period. Unless they somehow discovered gunpowder far in the future, they wouldn't even understand what was happening right now.
“Your leader claims to read the heavens! Then bring down rain and try to defeat this living flame, the incarnation of Chiyou, the Heavenly King!”
See? One against a million. Even with such an absurd disparity in power, the zerglings had lost the courage to press the attack. At least on this battlefield, I was the Firelord Ragnaros. I was the light and hope of the government forces.
“Let's go, you bastards!”
I lit the second Jincheonroe, spurred my horse into a quick trot, and let my moon blade hang low. “Die, you vermin!”
I threw another grenade and sent it flying farther with the flat of my blade. There was still some distance left. That meant I still had time for some psychological warfare.
“Can your commander do this?! If you're truly a master of the Taiping Way, then summon fire or water and try to stop me!”
This was an era without the concept of sensational culture. Well, there were the usual crude stimulations—sleeping with women or capturing thieves for grotesque human experiments—but nothing like the explosive, intense, vividly colored provocations of the modern world. Until I fell into this world, I hadn't realized it was an age without even smooth porcelain. Fire existed, but using it for anything impressive required risking your life.
In such a world, my act of detonating bombs must have been utterly beyond common sense.
— KABOOOOOM!
“Try to stop me! Stop cowering behind the deceived common people and wailing like women!”
“How dare you insult the Great Wise Teacher… Aaaargh!”
I swung my moon blade and crushed the head of a brave Yellow Turban. The roughly one hundred cavalrymen who had stayed with me until the end were now scattered, firing arrows and swinging moon blades or spears to tie down the enemy.
Swing, swing, swing. The moon blade, empowered by the horse's strength and speed, could literally send men flying. The occasional thrown Jincheonroe was enough to crush the reviving morale of the Yellow Turbans. Yet their numbers were still far too great.
“Zhang Jiao, you bastard! Come out and confess your sins before me! Or must I drag you out by the hair before you understand your crimes?!”
I must have cut down over a hundred, yet the Yellow Turbans filling my vision remained unchanged. My breath scraped at the edge of my throat, and even my beloved steed Tico the Second (I'd retired the first to farm work—riding him into constant battle would've been animal abuse) seemed exhausted, unable to maintain even a quick trot.
Damn it… If we retreated now, everything would be for nothing…
As I'd said, war was all about momentum. We still needed more time before sunset. Liu Bei and her sworn sisters hadn't transcended human limits either; their weapon swings had slowed noticeably compared to the beginning, and the number of visible cavalry had clearly decreased.
Of course, we could retreat and meet the enemy at the next camp, but pulling back before sunset would obviously let their morale surge again. We had only three Jincheonroe left. A night's rest wouldn't fully recover this fatigue, so the next fortress would surely fall even faster than today.
Tsk. In this battle—no, this war—I had to roll the dice here if I wanted to survive.
“Tico, give me one last push.”
I pulled out a turnip from my pocket and let the horse bite into it, then shouldered my moon blade—its edge now more saw than sword after heavy use—and scanned the Yellow Turban swarm more deeply. They were zerglings without proper training, but social animals instinctively formed defensive positions around their 'precious ones.'
If I could locate the enemy king and charge before my final stamina ran out, it would be my victory. If my strength gave out first, it would be my defeat. Of course, if the sun set before my stamina did, that was also my win.
If the Yellow Turbans got me? Well… game over. I omitted stating the basic rules since they were obvious. I wasn't a zombie; a blade to the body would kill me just the same. The only differences were that I wore slightly tougher armor, had a slightly higher vantage point, and possessed slightly better mobility.
Enduring the muscle pain that would probably kill me tomorrow, I swung my moon blade desperately and twisted my head in every direction.
“Zhang Jiao, you bastard! Where are you hiding?!”
Gripping the reins, I squeezed out my final breaths and charged toward the center of the Yellow Turbans.
“Elder Brother!”
Liu Bei's scream seemed to reach me—my action directly contradicting the order to trim the edges—but… there was no helping it. If Zhang Jiao wasn't at the point I'd predicted? No problem. There would still be a commander. If this army were truly wild zerg, they would've suffered a moral collapse the moment the first Jincheonroe exploded.
They must have been using some method—shining flashlights on their troops' heads, administering stimpacks, or perhaps casting faith magic to instill courage. Whatever it was, there had to be a commander in that horde capable of suppressing their terror. Cut off that commander's head, and they would revert to a million wild zerg.
…Fuck. I wanted a machine gun. Or at least a mortar. Heavy artillery… that was asking too much.
Zhang Jiao, leader of the Yellow Turban Army, practitioner of the Taiping Way, son of the yellow heavens, successor to the will of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, and destined ruler who would inherit the Mandate of Heaven from the fallen Han—could not comprehend this battlefield at all.
“That thing is a monster, you say!”
— KABOOM!
When that bastard threw a stone, dozens of comrades would shoot into the sky as if struck by lightning. Another several dozen would lose limbs and crawl across the ground, while hundreds nearby would stand dazed, weapons dropped as if possessed by ghosts. They then became prey for that damned butcher.
The giant stood over eight feet tall. The moon blade in his hand had cut down so many Yellow Turbans that the number was beyond counting. He kept shouting for them to stop him while slaughtering our troops.
“Does that bastard never tire?! Quickly, quickly—stop him! He's only human! With one million three hundred thousand Yellow Turbans, taking that monster's head will be easy!”
That was the logical view. Gongsun Zan's body was already screaming in exhaustion, and only a few of those 'miracle' stones remained. But the Yellow Turbans could not know that. The Jincheonroe were hidden securely in his coat, and he still had enough stamina to continue his final rampage for several dozen minutes. From the perspective of those facing the monster, the situation could only be described as utterly unfair.
“There you are!”
The moment the giant succeeded in locating Zhang Jiao while desperately urging the Yellow Turbans forward in an attempt to crush him beneath a mountain of corpses—
— CLANG!
With a metallic ring, a pitch-black stone flew toward Zhang Jiao.
“Stop him! That bastard is using sorcery! Block it now!”
— BOOM!
And that was Zhang Jiao's final memory.
— — —
“Hoo… Hoo…”
An unbelievable silence had fallen over the center of the battlefield despite having charged all the way in.
Clang… Clang-clang-clang… Clink… Clang…
The sounds weren't of guns, but of weapons dropping to the ground.
“Zhang Jiao, you wretch! Today I have judged you for deceiving and mocking the peasants and common people with your lies! I am Gongsun Zan!”
If my eyes weren't broken and I wasn't hallucinating from the battlefield's madness, the enemy commander had been torn into roughly 108 pieces. This war—I had won it again.
“Who else dares to challenge me?! Come if you dare! This lord will face you anytime!”
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
The sound of scraping metal continued without end. My body was in no condition to swing a blade even once more, but at least for today, it seemed I wouldn't need to exert myself anymore.
The sun was slowly sinking beyond the western mountains. It sets so quickly… you damn thing.