Deep Nightmare - 5
Not a single proper siege weapon in sight, not even a common ladder—they were a 100% cavalry unit. Anyone could see they had no intention of capturing Jiayu Pass. But failing to capture it and refusing to attack were two entirely different matters.
Shells rained down on their flanks, yet they charged straight at Jiayu Pass in a frenzy. Arrows flew from beyond the range of Jiayu Pass's soldiers, and the moment they seemed about to enter our firing range, they wheeled away with astonishing mobility. Jiayu Pass endured this trifecta of assaults.
It was enough to drive anyone mad. At least we were keeping the Mongols from scattering freely, but the price was Jiayu Pass taking a one-sided beating.
"No matter how many times I see it, their archery is vicious."
And once again, right after the Mongols hit and ran, I sighed at the arrows embedded all over the walls. They were clearly shot from a considerable distance. If our soldiers tried to replicate it, they wouldn't even dream of hitting anything—the arrows would lose power mid-flight and plummet harmlessly. Yet those arrows pierced shields or embedded themselves in the stone walls.
It wasn't something you could explain away with "nomad strength" or "stout bows."
"Their archery has been infamous for ages. They reinforce their bows and strings to withstand any force poured into them, and they infuse their arrows with qi to boost penetration."
The Jiayu Commandant's words made my brow furrow instinctively. Mongol archery had indeed been renowned for centuries. With swords, spears, or axes—anything gripped in the hand—you could channel qi smoothly. Connected to the hand, it became an extension of the body, and extensions of the body readily accepted qi.
But arrows detached from the body upon release. You might manage it before firing, but sustaining qi in a launched arrow was impossible for anyone short of a true master. At minimum, you'd need Peak realm, right?
'And yet, masters who achieve great heights in archery among martial artists are exceedingly rare.'
Most burned out before reaching that level. But the Mongols had shattered that common sense.
An arrow was, after all, just a disposable tool that exerted force for a fleeting instant from the moment it left the string until it struck its target. With the single-minded resolve to maintain qi for that instant alone, the Mongols had trained their archery to madness. And this was the result.
A few seconds in flight. In those few seconds, they packed the arrows with ferocious qi. Enough to pierce shields, armor, or even walls.
'Those old monsters.'
My teeth ground in frustration. Truth be told, no matter how much they trained, an arrow was still an arrow—a mere consumable. It couldn't match swinging a sword, so anyone at second-rate or first-rate could block Mongol arrows easily enough. But for ordinary soldiers without martial arts training, it was lethal.
Arrows flew from distances defying common sense, with destructive power beyond reason. How were regular soldiers supposed to endure that?
'They're fighting like absolute bastards.'
I had no choice but to grudgingly praise the Mongols for it. If their goal was just to screw with Jiayu Pass or drive the soldiers insane, they'd succeeded. They pelted us one-sidedly like we were toys, while we had no proper way to hit back.
'...At least the casualties aren't too heavy?'
Tsking my tongue at the sight of soldiers treating wounds or grabbing quick meals atop the walls. I wondered if this even qualified as fortunate, but the dead and seriously injured weren't that numerous. Just mentally exhausted, that's all.
Of course, enduring sandstorm-riding cavalry, attacks transcending logic, the helplessness of no counterattack, and walls that offered cold comfort—staying sane through all that would be the real anomaly.
The vicious Mongols who'd rung our alarm bells five times and bolted in a single day finally quieted as sunset fell. In the interim, the Jiayu Commandant gathered the officers for a meeting.
"If we just hold out, we win this fight. They have no designs on Jiayu Pass itself, and our cannons prevent them from scattering to other areas."
The Jiayu Commandant started with the positive. This battle was one we'd inevitably win with time. He wasn't wrong. In any engagement, the defender's victory condition was simply not losing territory. No matter the defender's losses, holding the land meant victory for us, defeat for them. And since we were even thwarting their pillaging, Jiayu Pass's triumph was assured.
"The question is whether the soldiers can endure until then."
The officers' faces darkened at his follow-up. Five hit-and-run visits from the Mongols in one day. We hadn't landed a proper counterstrike in any of them. Chase the retreating Mongols? Leaving a sturdy fortress to pursue nomads into the plains was suicide. And even if we tried, catching them was doubtful.
"No matter how guaranteed the victory, if morale hits rock bottom, we can't hold. No soldier can be expected to endure one-sided enemy assaults while assured of triumph."
The Jiayu Commandant was spot on again. Officers might promise victory a hundred, a thousand times, viewing the big picture. They urged on with cold logic: 'Even if soldiers die, as long as Jiayu Pass holds, it's a win.' But the frontline grunts taking arrows one-sidedly saw it differently. Officers knew deaths were acceptable for the win, but to a soldier, an unlucky arrow meant the end. Victory be damned—they were dead.
Thus, alleviating the soldiers' helplessness and fear was crucial. Only then could we end this bizarre battle in victory.
"Jeong Gi-ryeong, Elder."
"Yes, Commandant, sir."
At the Jiayu Commandant's call, the Gongdong-pa elder bowed his head. The Gongdong-pa Taoists had been enjoying a banquet when war suddenly erupted. Jeong Gi-ryeong, attending as their representative, wore an uncannily serene expression for someone thrust into this mess. More precisely, he was suppressing seething hostility and hatred toward the Mongols.
'Can't blame him.'
As an elder of a participating sect, he'd likely fought in the founding wars. As a Gansu native, his ancestors might have suffered Mongol raids. Either way, he'd welcome combat with the Mongols over reluctance.
"It pains me to ask those summoned for reinforcements to fight, but your aid is vital."
"Sir, repelling barbarian invasions for the realm is every subject's duty. Don't call it aid—give us your orders."
His words implied he'd gladly follow any command to slaughter Mongols. The Jiayu Commandant nodded in satisfaction.
"I've heard some spells restrict enemy movements."
"Correct. Specifically, they weigh down foes who enter the spell formation. Even agile warriors stumble within."
A deputy commander, who'd been listening quietly, spoke up cautiously.
"Sir. Are you thinking of drawing spell formations along their paths?"
"And if I am?"
"It's too dangerous. They're prowling beyond our range. To affect them, the Taoists would have to advance unsupported to lay the formations."
And if they encountered Mongols mid-ritual, returning to Jiayu Pass would be slower than getting cut down. The deputy didn't spell it out, but everyone present grasped the implication. It was a reckless gamble with the Taoists' lives.
"The deputy is right. Applying spells to the Mongol forces carries too much risk."
With that, the Jiayu Commandant rose.
"But no need for concern. What we'll bind with spells isn't the Mongol army—it's something else."
"Something... else?"
"Everyone, up. It's just an idea so far—I need to see if it'll work."
The officers blinked at the abrupt order, but when the commandant led, they followed without protest.
"Elder, draw that binding formation first. No need for it to be large."
"Here, sir?"
"Yes. Something to verify."
At the open ground, the Jiayu Commandant instructed Jeong Gi-ryeong to create the suppression formation. After various tests,
"Just as I thought."
he stroked his chin in satisfaction.
'It works.'
I was stunned by the results from the sidelines too. That spell's suppression—it manipulated gravity.
The slave soldiers were up to some strange trick.
"General."
"I see it."
I nodded calmly at my adjutant's uneasy voice. A bizarre sight. Arrows flying like wolves suddenly lost power, slamming into the ground before reaching the walls. Impossible. Our bows pierced wind to strike foes.
'Something's pulling them.'
After several shots all embedding in the dirt, I grasped it. As if the sky crushed them down, or the earth yanked them. I didn't know the exact mechanism, but it had to be their sorcery. When reason failed, nine times out of ten it was spells.
"No helping it."
I dismounted. Seeing me do so, adjutants and soldiers followed suit, one by one.
"Retreating like this would be no fun, would it?"
No reply needed. Precisely, none was expected. Steppe warriors showed their hearts in deeds, not words.
"If arrows fail, we settle it with swords."
The gates? No plans to breach anyway—ignore them. The walls? For ordinary soldiers or novice martial artists, maybe daunting. But for masters like us, walls were mere hills we could scale bare-handed.
'I'll make them miss their arrows.'
When swords loomed before their eyes instead. I wondered what faces the slave soldiers would make.