A special thank you to all my patrons:
—Cain, Jacob Mooe, HADES, Varun Madhu, Gonzalo Sumalavia, kevin Williams, KD2001, merp., Jose Carrillo, Derek M, DancingMonkey65, Joseph, Jose Sierra, AR3S, Nuro, SPabloS.
You can read 50 chapters ahead of everyone on p@treon.
P@TREON - [email protected]/lessaservantofcosmos
(just replace the "@" with "a")
ps: Please support me on P@treon. I can really use your help!
—————————————————————
Fire. Everywhere, there was fire, a raging, crimson inferno…
The season was still caught between the lingering chill of winter and the nascent warmth of spring. Even the common soldiers wore extra layers to ward off the cold. Yet now, these very clothes became death itself, clinging to their bones like vengeful spirits.
The blaze erupted from beneath their feet. Frantic stomping and jumping proved utterly futile. Flames licked at them from every direction, igniting fabric and flesh alike. The soldiers were packed tightly, a seething mass of humanity where one man's burning agony became another's. There was nowhere to hide, no path to retreat…
The doors and windows lining the street were all boarded shut with heavy planks. Who, in the midst of such a conflagration, could possibly muster the presence of mind to pry them open?
Most could only see a sliver of space ahead and desperately charged forward, gambling their lives on a chance at escape…
Here, the advantage of the four-legged cavalry became apparent. Warhorses, intelligent creatures with an innate sense for self-preservation, needed little guidance from their riders. They instinctively swerved around burning piles of hay, trying to flee this hellish stretch of fiery street.
Alas, they had barely burst free from the wreckage of one burning wagon when they slammed headlong into two more careening, fiery projectiles!
Zhang Liao's preparation hadn't been just two wagons filled with dry hay, but six!
Several warhorses couldn't dodge in time, crashing directly into the blindly charging wagons. The sickening sound of cracking bones, ka-la-la, filled the air as men and horses were sent tumbling.
Then, two more wagons, laden with burning hay, smashed into the chaos. One wagon hit the existing wreckage, tripped, and launched into the air, its entire payload of blazing fodder scattering forward like a fiery wave!
A great shower of burning hay soared over the heads of the crowd, raining down into their midst. A Yang family general happened to be near the impact zone. He tried to steer his horse away but was hemmed in on all sides by the panicked mob. Instantly, he was struck from his saddle by the burning mass. Several of his personal guards rushed into the flames, attempting to rescue him, only to be tragically set ablaze themselves…
Several of Zheng Jian's personal guards were frantically trying to clear a path, slashing and driving the infantry aside to allow Zheng Jian and his retinue to break through the fire. But the foot soldiers, lost in their own terrified frenzy, screamed and shouted, utterly deaf to any commands.
Seeing the situation descend into uncontrollable chaos, Zheng Jian's guards drew their sabers and began cutting down any foot soldier blocking their way.
Roughly three to four hundred men, plus forty or fifty cavalry, had poured into the city gate. The area was already dangerously congested before the fire…
One of Zheng Jian's soldiers dropped his weapon, hopping and frantically slapping at the smoldering hem of his tunic. He had just managed to extinguish it and was catching his breath when someone shoving from behind sent him stumbling. He fell to the ground. Before he could even attempt to rise, several heavy boots trampled over him.
The soldier tried to scream, to draw attention, to beg them to stop. But he had only managed half a cry when a boot stomped directly on his head, silencing the other half of his shriek.
Then more and more people stampeded over him. At first, a few weak sounds escaped, but soon, there was only silence…
The main street was essentially blocked solid by the six burning wagons, but a few gaps remained. A handful of Zheng Jian's personal guards, forming a protective circle around him, managed to fight their way out of the worst inferno…
On the long street ahead, Zhang Liao stood alone in the center, squinting slightly as he watched the twenty or so smoke-blackened cavalrymen who had emerged. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, cold smile.
This single fire, though it had only consumed four or five hundred of Zheng Jian's troops, had struck his entire army like a stunning blow to the head. Not only had it halted their offensive momentum, but more importantly, it had severely crushed their morale.
Outside the city gate, a large number of soldiers remained, yet not a single one harbored any desire to continue the assault. They stood as if turned to wooden chickens, all strength seemingly drained from their bodies, listening numbly to the inhuman shrieks of their comrades trapped within the fiery hell inside the city…
Zheng Jian's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Zhang Liao's figure. A roar of pure, unadulterated fury erupted from his throat. He was of the Xingyang Zheng clan, a scion of a centuries-old lineage. Since childhood, he had immersed himself in the classics, devouring books of poetry and history. After becoming the Prefect of Hangu Pass, he had been diligent and conscientious, dedicated to his administrative duties. All he wanted was to advance further, to unfold his ambitions on a grander stage. But this dream, just as it began to spread its wings, had been brutally snapped by the men before him…
This spiritual agony cut far deeper than any physical wound. Zheng Jian knew that had he remained outside the walls, he might still have been able to regroup his forces and launch another attack. But his own moment of reckless ambition, his greedy rush for merit, had forged an irreparable mistake.
Who could have imagined that amidst such intense fighting, Fei Qian and Zhang Liao could still conceive such a vicious trap?
Who would have thought that despite Fei Qian and Zhang Liao clearly being critically short on manpower, they could still spare soldiers to set this up?
Who could have foreseen that in the west gate area, which lacked a barbican, they would artificially create one?
If it hadn't been for the darkness obscuring his vision, he might have noticed the anomalies on the street in time. If the city gate hadn't been choked with the wreckage of the battering rams, perhaps they could have retreated…
There were too many 'ifs'. Had he been just a bit more careful, a touch more cautious at any single point, he would never have been trapped in such a death ground!
But now, every path was blocked, leaving only one road before him…
A clearly hopeless road.
This game of chess had reached its endgame.
Zheng Jian raised his long sword and issued his command. Only by killing these soldiers before him, including Zhang Liao, could they perhaps break a path to survival from this dead end!
His personal guards understood this too. At Zheng Jian's order, they immediately spurred their horses forward in a desperate charge. In their minds, Zhang Liao stood alone in the center of the long street. Even if they couldn't kill him, forcing him aside would allow them to crash into the infantry behind him, who lacked any defensive barricades, and carve out an escape route for Zheng Jian.
Zhang Liao waited calmly. He watched as the twenty-some cavalry charged, crossing half the distance. Suddenly, he barked a sharp command: "Now!" Instantly, three or four thick ropes were pulled taut across the street!
Zheng Jian's charging horsemen had no time to react. Those who avoided the first rope were caught by the next. Horses' legs tangled in the ropes, sending riders and steeds tumbling head over heels, crashing to the ground far away…
The few remaining cavalrymen who had miraculously avoided the tripping ropes were now scattered and disorganized, posing no threat to Zhang Liao. With a slight squeeze of his legs, Zhang Liao urged his horse into a light trot, quickly accelerating. His spear danced, tracing several deadly blossoms in the air. Like a whirlwind, he effortlessly dispatched the remaining riders, closing the distance to Zheng Jian. With a simple, almost casual flick of his spear shaft, he struck Zheng Jian, knocking him from his saddle.
Zheng Jian landed heavily on the ground. His left arm, whether broken or dislocated, hung useless. He twitched and struggled for a long moment before slowly managing to rise.
Coughing several times, he lifted his head to glare at Zhang Liao, his voice a ragged, hoarse roar: "In this time of national crisis, you lot do not think of serving your country! Instead, you aid a tyrant and abet his evil! You will become criminals condemned for a thousand generations!"
Zhang Liao reined in his horse, silent.
Zheng Jian turned, limping, and slowly groped on the ground until he found his fallen sword. He placed the blade against his own neck, standing upright facing east. A stream of hot tears rolled down his cheeks. "The crimes of the Tyrant Dong span heaven and cover the earth, too numerous to recount! I, Jian, am incompetent. I have failed the grace of the state and brought shame upon my family. Today, there is only death. I… I shall await you in the Nine Springs below!"
With these final words, Zheng Jian exerted force with his hand, drawing the sharp blade across his own throat. A final, gurgling sound escaped him before he collapsed, lifeless…