Chapter 3: Making a Name (1)
The crude formation of the Yellow Turbans collapsed in an instant the moment they witnessed their sole leader and pillar of faith pierced through and dying pathetically like a frog right before their eyes.
Those who had been bellowing with veins bulging in excitement dropped their weapons and turned tail, shoving and trampling each other in a desperate bid for survival. Their ranks devolved into a living hell, a true field of carnage.
Liu Bei, watching from the rear, wouldn't miss that fatal opening. He immediately drew the paired swords from his belt and issued the command.
"The entire army, advance at once! Annihilate the enemy!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Guan Yu charged forward like a fierce tiger, his red face etched with chilling killing intent.
"Don't let a single one of those fleeing rats escape alive!"
Following him, the full hundred volunteers erupted in victorious cheers and surged toward the plain like a dam burst, a raging wave unleashed.
From that point on, it was nothing but a one-sided slaughter.
Minju sat dazed atop his horse, watching the gruesome spectacle unfold. They had won. Or more precisely, Zhang Fei's body had won. But one thing was clear: the final thrust that overcame fear and pierced through had come from none other than Kang Minju's own will.
His hands trembled like aspen leaves. Sticky blood from Kou Yang dripped steadily from the curved blade tip of the Zhangba Snake Spear, soaking the dirt below.
Bile surged up his throat, his stomach churning violently. He wanted nothing more than to dismount, drop to his knees, and vomit his guts out. Yet strangely, deep in his gut, a mad whirl of exhilaration and profound relief—I'm alive—swirled wildly.
As tension ebbed and his grip on the reins nearly slackened—
Guan Yu returned from sweeping through the enemy lines, reining in his horse leisurely beside Minju. Fresh blood from three or four more men dripped from the tip of his Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
Guan Yu's thick brows furrowed at the sight of Minju's torn shoulder armor and the bloodstains.
"You've been wounded."
Minju jolted at Guan Yu's voice, snapping his mind back to attention.
"Ah, n-no! A mere scratch like this is nothing, brother."
He forced his voice low, pretending to be hearty. Guan Yu stared silently into Minju's flickering eyes for a moment, then the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his tightly pressed lips.
"Still got that knack for chilling folks to the bone needlessly, Yide. At first, I thought you'd shown that opening on purpose. But... that final strike piercing the enemy leader? Pure, brilliant spearwork worthy of you."
Minju laughed awkwardly, cold sweat trickling down his back.
"H-ha... well... the result was obvious, wasn't it?"
Guan Yu nodded heavily. That brief acknowledgment, the nod sweeping away doubt, landed in Minju's chest like a boulder for reasons he couldn't fathom.
The battle naturally ended in a crushing victory for Liu Bei's volunteers. The Yellow Turban remnants, leaderless, scattered like grains of sand. The blood-soaked plain lay littered with broken spears, discarded yellow banners, and horrific corpses tangled with dirt, entrails, and gore.
By the time the volunteers set up a temporary camp in the nearby woods and caught their breath, the sun was already dipping behind the western ridges.
The camp buzzed like a festival. The soldiers were flushed with excitement—as they should be. Their champion, General Zhang, had demolished the enemy leader in overwhelming single combat, leading to a flawless victory without a drop of their own blood spilled. Morale soared to the heavens.
"We gotta roast meat and feast tonight!"
"General Zhang saved our hides today!"
"First round to the general!"
Every time the soldiers chanted his name in raucous cheers, Minju wiped imaginary sweat from his brow inside.
No, please... just let this slide quietly. I'm about to hurl here...
And then there was that damn liquor. But wishes be damned—his stomach could churn all it wanted; reality crushed it flat.
As dusk deepened into thick night, a massive bonfire roared to life in the camp's central clearing. The modest victory feast began.
Poor volunteers meant no extravagance: tough, juice-less roasted meat, bland grain porridge, and harsh, cheap rice wine. But the soldiers' laughter and cheers, fresh from death's door, spiced it into something rivaling an emperor's banquet.
At the fire's heart, Liu Bei raised his rough earthen cup first.
"Today's perfect victory came from all you brothers uniting without fear of death! But especially, my brother Yide, who broke the enemy leader's spirit right in the heart of their lines and opened the path to triumph—his merit stands tallest!"
Thunderous cheers erupted.
"General Zhang!"
"Man Slayer Yide, long live!"
Minju lifted his cup in a daze, face stiff. The old Kang Minju would've suffocated under dozens of eyes, desperate to crawl into a hole. But now, that embarrassment paled against the crushing pressure: Act like the bold Zhang Fei here, or they'll suspect.
He twisted his stiffening facial muscles, yanking his lips up to his ears. Then he forced out a hearty, booming laugh worthy of Zhang Fei.
"Kuhahaha! What's all this fuss over a trifle? Just smashed a few starving village-rat Yellow Turbans! Let's tear into this meat!"
The soldiers went wild at the feigned bravado, clinking cups and roaring louder. But Guan Yu, sitting quietly beside him, tilted his cup in silence while shooting Minju sharp sidelong glances.
Feeling those piercing eyes, Minju straightened his back unnecessarily and swallowed dryly.
Liu Bei patted Minju's shoulder with his signature warm, kindly smile.
"Merit is merit, though. Yide, how's that shoulder? You worked hard today."
A single, heartfelt word of comfort—pure solace Minju had never heard in the modern world. He blanked out, forgetting to reply, then bowed his head roughly.
"Y-your praise is too much, brother. A scratch like this heals after one night's sleep."
His tongue nearly tripped from nerves, but the festive mood masked it—no one noticed.
Time passed. Soldiers' faces burned red from drink. Liu Bei just smiled benevolently; Guan Yu silently refilled empty cups. The feast dragged deep into the night.
Drunken soldiers exaggerated the day's duel, boasting wildly over drinks.
"I saw it with my own eyes! General Zhang swung that Zhangba Snake Spear like whoosh—and that mountain of a man flew like a scarecrow!"
"No, you fool! He smashed down from above! That brute begged for mercy, trembling and bawling!"
"Pfft, liar! You dreamed that up drunk!"
Genuine belly laughs soared over the crackling fire. Minju gazed at them quietly across the dying flames. His forced smile faded unwittingly into a dazed expression. The noise seemed to recede into the distance.
Suddenly, Kou Yang's face flickered over the fire—the man he'd impaled. Eyes bulging in shock, foam at his lips as he collapsed. The vivid vibration through his hands as the spear tip punched through ribs. That icy sensation of murder still clung to his palms.
Minju stared quietly into his cup, turbid liquor rippling. The fire's red glow danced on the surface—like gazing into pooled blood.
I killed a man with my own hands.
The undeniable truth hit late as guilt. But cold reason countered: Had I failed, hesitated with that thrust— I'd be the one gutted in the cold mud, crow food now.
Minju closed his eyes slowly, then snapped them open. Everything sharpened crystal-clear. This wasn't VR, a nightmare. One mistake, one hesitation, and your head rolls in this blood-stinking real world.
Time to accept it. He couldn't survive as the ordinary, frail modern man Kang Minju. Not for a day. To live in this brutal ancient China, he'd act the fierce general Zhang Fei to the bone—splattered in blood, severing enemy necks.
That brutal truth sank into his marrow, chilling his chest like ice.
Then, across the fire, a group approached the Liu Bei camp with slow, thudding steps. Guan Yu rose instinctively, voice wary.
"Who goes there? You don't look like enemies."
Had they been foes, they'd have ambushed amid the revelry. Instead, they advanced boldly from the front, announcing themselves.
Not enemies—but allies unproven. A man dismounted and eyed Liu Bei near Guan Yu.
"Are you Liu Bei?"
Liu Bei nodded curtly.
"I am."
The man introduced himself.
"I am Zou Jing, Paro School Captain of You Province, dispatched by court order to exterminate the Yellow Turban bandits."
The festive cheers froze solid at the imperial troops' arrival.