Chapter 00304: The Dark Strike
# The Dark Strike
Chapter 304
Novel: After the Immortals Disappeared
Chapter 304: The Dark Strike
Fortunately, this time He Lingchuan played to his toughness and steadiness.
Step by step, he patiently waited and finally caught a flaw in the opponent’s defense, delivering a decisive strike that earned him merit.
He Lingchuan had just pulled aside the tent flap when he saw rain falling like a curtain, so thick that he couldn’t even see the troops three zhang (about ten meters) away.
The visibility was barely better than in a dense fog.
If he reached out his hand for a few seconds, he could scoop up a handful of rainwater to wash his face.
He poured some cold rain on his face, thinking about what kind of spell or technique he should exchange for next time once he accumulated enough military merit.
Every battle gave him valuable experience, and now he felt he still lacked a technique with a powerful burst of force.
Next time he would definitely exchange for the Mirror Image Technique.
The Yuan army’s main camp had retreated another hundred zhang back and settled on solid rock ground.
This meant there was no risk of collapse and it was more than two zhang higher than the river surface.
But the price was an increase in snakes, rats, and other small creatures, and many people were bitten from time to time.
Zhao Pan and He Chunhua didn’t let their guard down at all.
Especially with fears of revenge from Hong Chenglüe, they demanded ever tougher defenses for the camp every day.
The Yuan soldiers didn’t understand why and secretly grumbled.
After just a few breaths stepping outside the tent, their whole bodies were soaked.
The muddy ground stained their shoes and pants.
At a time like this, the entire camp should be resting, but why was General Zhao insisting on everyone standing firm and guarding the perimeter?
The enemy was still on the other side of the river.
Could they really risk crossing in such terrible weather for a surprise attack?
Caught in the continuous heavy rain, He Chunhua’s unit was stuck in the camp and couldn’t return south.
His time at the front had already gone beyond his expectations.
This was also one source of unease in his heart—any delay might cause something to go wrong.
Thick clouds hung heavy and the sky darkened quickly.
There was no need to wait until sunset.
The last traces of light vanished impatiently, and the entire Yuan camp was swallowed by a net woven of pounding rain and darkness.
Such terrible weather didn’t stop the guards from continuing their patrols.
Their torches were soaked in a special oil mixture, allowing them to keep burning even in the rain.
Though they wore rain cloaks, their armor and shoes underneath were thoroughly soaked, sticky and cold.
Especially their shoes, filled with water, made squelching sounds with every step.
“Damn weather!” A newly arrived sentry marched along the riverbank, holding his torch and brushing rainwater out of his eyes, cursing under his breath.
The old camp site was already underwater.
The riverbank had suffered several collapses, and the shoreline had retreated nearly a hundred zhang south.
The sentry had to walk carefully to avoid accidents.
Just two days ago, an unlucky comrade had stepped on collapsing earth, fallen into the river, and was swept away without a trace.
So the sentry merely gave the shore a cursory patrol, keeping three zhang away from the water’s edge.
In weather like this, no one would believe the enemy was lurking by the river.
If it weren’t for General Zhao’s insistence, no one would want to get that close.
Nothing unusual detected, he turned back.
This had been the routine night after night for many days.
About an hour later, the sentry came on patrol again.
This was his second round, and if he managed three tonight, someone would come to relieve him.
He half-heartedly glanced here and there, but on the way back, something felt off.
Though he was lazy and unwilling to move, after some inner struggle, he forced himself to return to the riverbank and raised his torch.
Rain fell ceaselessly, and the Han River roared violently.
Every time he passed by here, he could hear the pounding of waves against the shore, loud enough to rival thunder.
But tonight, there was only the sound of the rain.
The sentry cautiously crept closer to the bank and shone his torch downward—
Something strange.
No water.
A full zhang below the riverbank there was no water.
Instead, he saw muddy sand and soil at the bottom.
He stretched the torch’s light as far forward as he could, but within the area the firelight lit, there was still no trace of river water.
What was going on? When he first patrolled here, waves still slapped the shore.
Had the river reversed its flow?
Come to think of it, in the dark at the edges of the torchlight, something seemed to be moving?
He was just peering cautiously when suddenly four or five arrows shot up from below.
Most missed, but one pierced his eye.
The sentry collapsed, staring blankly at the sky.
The archers below had no spiritual energy, so their aim was inaccurate.
They shot multiple arrows at once, hoping for a lucky hit.
This sentry did have some spiritual energy, so normally being struck by an arrow wouldn’t be fatal.
But this was unlucky—an arrow directly into the eye was a mortal blow.
When he fell, the torch dropped and the flickering light alarmed two comrades nearby.
They rushed over and upon seeing the glowing arrows sticking from him, immediately blew their urgent whistles.
Enemy attack!
Almost at the same moment came a deafening shout from below the riverbank, silencing the rain:
“Charge!”
“General Nian will prevail!”
In the darkness, something stirred, advancing toward the high ground.
Soon countless flickering lights appeared below the riverbank, instantly turning into fiery streaks slicing through the sky—
Then hitting the tents, carts, and fences of the Yuan northern camp!
Though several days of rain had soaked weapons and canvas, each arrowhead was coated with a special oil that allowed it to burn even in wet conditions.
Coupled with a north wind fanning the flames, the Yuan camp caught fire in many places.
Zhao Pan and He Chunhua both jolted awake from their sleep, rushing outside only to see fire arrows flying recklessly overhead.
“Sir, be careful!” the guards quickly formed a protective circle.
Zhao Pan snatched up a great bow, ripped a fire arrow out of a tent pole, and despite the guards’ protests, stepped forward a hundred steps before drawing his bow and releasing a shot aimed at the river below.
With his strength and spiritual energy, even against the north wind, he could easily shoot over 300 steps.
The Yuan soldiers watched as the flaming arrow soared high, illuminating the riverbank—
and the densely packed enemy troops!
Their armor was clear and distinct, filling almost the entire inshore bar.
At that moment, the roar of battle cries thundered as they charged.
Xunzhou soldiers!
A cold shiver ran down Zhao Pan’s spine, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Why was Nian Zanli’s force able to cross safely and launch a sudden assault on the southern bank?
“Form battle lines! Beat the drums and raise the flags!” No matter what his mind thought, years of combat experience made his orders fluent, “Send the supervisors to the front!”
When a great army camps, it always lays down defensive formations, but activating those arrays burns a lot of spirit crystals, so they’re normally kept dormant.
Zhao Pan had specialist tacticians under him, who immediately moved to activate the formation upon his order.
As for beating drums to signal troops forward, that was deeply ingrained in the soldiers’ minds.
Drumbeats meant the command was prepared and ready to counterattack, helping soldiers hold their fear and turn to fight when pressed.
The Yuan army had been caught off guard by the Xunzhou troops, and if their forces broke, even the strongest individual warriors couldn’t stop the total collapse of their defense.
The supervisor troops galloped around, slaughtering over a dozen fleeing soldiers to barely stall the rout.
However, below the riverbank came a series of booming explosions.
Seven or eight firebombs screamed into the camp, bursting everywhere.
The Xunzhou army had actually brought cannons, wrapped in oilcloth, across the river—up to twelve of them!
These cannons were delicate.
Water could easily dampen the powder and cause misfires, or even hurt their own men.
But Nian Zanli had carefully placed expensive waterproof talismans on each cannon, showing great thoughtfulness.
He also ordered them to load cluster shells: after the main blast, dozens of small lead balls would scatter.
With the advantage of speed, these were deadly weapons.
Each explosion brought down dozens of soldiers.
Horses panicked, broke free from their stables, and ran wild.
At this moment the Yuan soldiers realized the Xunzhou forces had not all landed yet.
At least several thousand were still disembarking from boats, while the main vanguard pressed their charge.
Strangely, the river water had actually receded significantly, lowering the water level so the shoreline was now over forty zhang away from the Yuan camp.
The water surface was calm enough that anyone who could swim could cross.
It was as if the great river suddenly lost its torrent.
The newly exposed riverbed became the landing zone for the Xunzhou troops.
He Lingchuan was busy as well, quickly seeking out his mount.
His green brindled horse had a demonic bloodline, not easily spooked like normal beasts, and now approached him willingly.
The medicine ape shrank into He Lingchuan’s arms, the rock wolf shook off water and padded beside him.
Shan Youjun and seven or eight others came over, calling out, “Master! What’s the plan now?”
He Lingchuan faced two choices: either rush to He Chunhua’s side, ‘to protect his father,’ or stay here and charge hard against the enemy.
He only thought for a second before telling Shan Youjun, “Archers, get into the trees. Send someone to find me a way to retreat.”
“Yes!” Shan Youjun understood that their group was about to hold the enemy here.
Otherwise, he could already withdraw near the main camp and wouldn’t bother looking for a way out.
But he still gave a warning: “Master, your lowest-ranked fortune…”
He had heard Maotao mention the bad omen the master drew in the Fairy Spirit Village.
He Lingchuan’s expression hardened.
The enemy had crossed silently and prepared carefully, but the Yuan troops were caught napping, unable to respond in time.
The current situation was clearly unfavorable.
Before the greater forces, their group of fewer than ten was limited in strength.
He had to be extremely cautious.
The old turtle demon’s prophecy hadn’t come true yet—could it be now?
He Lingchuan suddenly recalled the word “courage” explained by Wen Daolun in the Pànlóng dream, and the joke he had made himself:
“Where there’s water, run.”
Straight ahead, the Han River flowed relentlessly.
Perhaps that was the glaring hint: in previous crises, there was never “water,” and he had passed safely through.
Was it time to retreat?
He Lingchuan glanced back at the chaotic camp, then at the enemy silhouette growing closer by the riverbank.
Their side faced grave peril—but was he to turn and run in fear?
He decisively said, “Don’t think too much. We fall back halfway up the slope and set up horse traps.”
They immediately retreated toward the side of the high ground.
The enemies surged up like a tidal wave.
If they dared to stand firm head-on, the outcome would only be a straight fall.
Small teams depended on tactics.
Even worse, the original southern bank of the Han River had been artificially raised and steepened by the Yuan soldiers, forming the so-called “river wall” with only a few narrow paths for ascent and descent, a defensive structure against enemy crossings.
But the days of floodwater had long since destroyed the river wall, forcing even the Yuan army to retreat.
They now only held ordinary high ground—with no place of advantage to defend.
(End of chapter)