Once Again, the Yellow Turbans Were a Different Breed
But once again, the Yellow Turbans in Yanzhou were nothing like the Black Mountain Bandits we'd faced before.
When 10,000 faced off against 40,000, it had been possible to shatter their morale in one swift strike. Just kill a few thousand in an instant, and they'd panic and rout on their own. That was how we'd aimed for their self-destruction—and won—up until now.
But these Yellow Turbans were on another level entirely.
In a massive clash like this, local victories meant nothing. We'd cut down the front ranks, only for fresh enemies to pour over the corpses endlessly. As their numbers swelled, our front line stretched thin—we couldn't kill them at the same pace. Before they broke, our own forces would be annihilated.
In my past life, playing grand strategy games, I'd felt how changing unit sizes could flip the battle.
So we needed a stratagem. A proven one from history.
Like the oblique order, or Alexander the Great's victory over Darius.
"First, we hit the scattered Yellow Turban bands with ambushes and raids, smashing any reinforcements that come to their aid. String together enough ambush wins like that, and even the big groups will hesitate to cooperate out of fear."
Targeting the small fry first was Jingong's idea. Among the other clans' forces and the governor's troops, there were plenty of green recruits lacking experience. This would let them gain it safely before the real fight.
"That should whittle them down by 10,000 to 20,000."
Jojo swept away a couple of lone yellow flags from Dongpyeong Commandery on the map.
Of course, even after pruning those branches, yellow flags still outnumbered thirty.
"The Yellow Turbans aren't fools—they'll bunch up to avoid being picked off. The biggest band is in Suyang County, so they'll converge there."
I gathered all nine red flags and shoved them toward Suyang County, where the thirty-odd yellow ones clustered. The odds were still over 1:3, but better than the 1:4 we'd started with.
"Then we strike the Yellow Turbans at Suyang County. Win there, and the remnants' morale will crumble—we can liberate Yanzhou."
Of course, my proposal didn't win instant approval. Those who hadn't discussed it with me beforehand fired off questions.
"But there's no guarantee the Suyang bands will actually merge with the others, right? And even if they do, they're over three times our strength—how exactly do we win?"
Hahou Don zeroed in on the gaps I'd left unexplained.
I laid out what I'd hashed out with the advisors beforehand.
"If they see their allies get ambushed and picked off, and still don't merge? We keep picking them apart. Their strength lies in numbers—thinning them out for us is a gift."
The biggest Yellow Turban band now was 60,000 soldiers, 200,000 total. Our regular tactics had beaten Black Mountain Bandits that size before. Even if they banded together later, it'd be far easier than now.
I swept away the unmerged future on the map.
"Plus, the Yellow Turbans lack proper logistics—they live off plunder. That's why they're scattered."
"So bunching up to avoid defeat plays right into our hands. That many together, with no plunder around? Chaos over supplies is inevitable."
Jao In nailed why I wanted them clustered.
That size crowd would spark riots over food and distribution. Three days huddled together, and internal strife would shake their morale on its own.
"If they advance as one, we use scorched earth tactics. That'll sap their spirit enough to make it a fair fight."
"But even weakened, beating that many? We'd need to blunt every weapon they hold before they'd rout."
Jo Hong poked at another weak spot in the explanation.
Time to unveil the formation we'd refined with the other advisors.
"Exactly. So let's discuss the formation for the battle."
I swapped the map and demonstrated.
Two weeks had passed since Jang Myeong laid out his formation in the command tent.
The soldiers stared blankly at the bandit camp they'd just erased. What thousands had built was gone, dismantled by a mere 3,000.
Where clamor had reigned now lay broken flagpoles, torn banners, and dust-caked corpses.
"Another one down."
From horseback, Jojo gazed at the Yellow Turban camp.
His nose, numb from parsing the onslaught of stench, detected no blood or filth as it should on a battlefield.
"This is why I hate fighting."
His armor was caked in blood and dirt, needing a scrub. Underneath, fatigue and sweat clung stickily.
- Caw caw!
Crows wheeled excitedly overhead, eyeing the feast of corpses around the camp.
Jojo scanned the nearby soldiers. The recruits who'd barely gripped spears two weeks ago were gone.
Their breaths came ragged, but their steps forward never faltered. Proof that battling Yellow Turbans had forged iron resolve in their bodies.
Smooth sailing so far.
Jojo felt confirmed: clearing small remnants first was the right call.
Of 45,000 troops, he'd committed 35,000—minus minimal guards—to the mop-up. Generals and advisors each took thousands, nibbling from Suyang's outskirts inward, grinding down the scattered Yellow Turbans like waves eroding a sandcastle.
Thinking of his advisors, who predicted everything like reading his palm, Jojo muttered to himself.
"I've got good advisors."
"What do you mean?"
Jo Hong, rounding up stragglers nearby, asked.
Jojo stroked his chin with a blood-wiped hand.
"Facing 200,000 enemies with our 40,000—we'd have to charge like madmen till our blades dulled and spears snapped. A brutal slog."
He eyed the charred Yellow Turban camp.
Without the stratagem, they'd have charged to certain death.
"But my advisors found the way to win this."
Munyak (Xun Yu) optimized troop setups for the formation. Gongdal (Sun Yu) suggested how to pierce crumbling Yellow Turban flanks. Gongdae (Jingong) advised starting with remnants. Bonghyo (Guo Jia) pushed luring them into one spot.
And Somyeong had proposed the plan first and led the debate. The oblique order idea alone earned him the title of genius.
"How could I not praise them?"
Jo Hong nodded.
"True. But we need to move. The vanguard's hitting now—time to cut off their supports."
"Right. Shame we can't bag more prisoners."
Jojo's army moved organically, messengers flying constantly between units. Not everything went to plan, but they adapted.
When action diverged, the command adjusted plans on the fly. Jojo and his advisors excelled at real-time tweaks.
"Let's roll."
"Sleep well last night?"
"I keep telling you, Wang Jun—even dirt floors suit me fine."
I'd led 4,000 to mop up Yellow Turban remnants from Yanzhou's Imseong Commandery.
We fought where and when we chose, how we chose. In ten days, we'd cleared 20,000.
"Not enough glory to satisfy?"
"Does my wife still not know me?"
"That's why I'm asking."
Compared to units bagging 30,000 or 40,000, it was modest—but I was content. Supporting flanks was my role anyway.
Best of all, despite the rough spots, I got full sleep.
True, sleep really is the cure-all.
I'd once craved it even in nightmares, dreaming of sleep. Merit mattered less now.
My position wasn't lowly enough to scramble for promotions. Better to let Sun Yu and others rack up kills, build bonds.
"Time to move."
I eyed the approaching messenger.
Daily messenger relays were a hassle over letting units freelance. But the coordination yielded bigger results—no denying it.
Half our zero-loss streak came from that synergy.
Fantasizing faster comms, I approached the rider.
Two weeks since Jojo's 35,000 sortied: of 800,000 Yellow Turbans in Yanzhou, 150,000 were combat-ineffective.
650,000 hostiles vs. our 180,000 fighters remained—but their shadow over Yanzhou was fading.
Jojo recalled all units for the decisive push.
Most small Yellow Turban bands, hit hard, had fled to Suyang County—bar a few holdouts.
We massed 50 li west of them. Losses to remnants trimmed us by 5,000; adding Jebok Sang Po Sin's 10,000 brought us to 50,000 total.
4,000 cavalry, 46,000 infantry. A solid setup.
"Urgent dispatch!"
The day we'd herded 600,000 Yellow Turbans into Suyang, great news arrived: Dong Zhuo, slain by Lu Bu in the capital that May.
Jojo, hearing it mid-meeting, whooped with joy.
"That traitor's finally dead!"
Dong Zhuo died as history decreed, betrayed by his foster son Lu Bu.
I'd worried my meddling might save him from Luoyang—but his atrocities sealed his fate anyway.
"A day worth celebrating."
As generals cheered, I glanced at Jojo.
Deposing the Emperor, poisoning the young one and Lady He, reign of terror, tomb-robbing, razing Luoyang, massacring civilians. Dong Zhuo deserved ten thousand deaths.
But Jojo's future sins weren't trivial either. I backed using the Emperor as a puppet.
The rest? I'd stop them cold—they'd delay his rise too much.
"No drinking mid-campaign, but we'll toast properly after crushing these Yellow Turbans."
Guo Jia, slurring slightly, mused on celebrating Dong Zhuo's end. His flushed face said he'd snuck a sip.
...Never mind. Drop it.
I bit back a jab at his cheek—didn't need drama now.
"In three days, we march on Suyang to smash Guo Wu's Yellow Turbans. Objections?"
I scanned the tent. Normally, Chief of Staff Xun Yu would wrap up, but he was filling in for the governor.
"None? Then prep for three days—and wipe them out."
Jojo eyed the group, ended the meeting. We scattered to tasks.
Yanzhou's liberation drew near.