The sky over the Qing River was choked with the dust of chaos.
*Biu—*
A sharp, piercing whistle tore through the din of battle, slicing the air like a blade.
Guan Yu's eyes snapped open. His hand automatically gripped the cold steel of his weapon, his posture instantly locking into a coil of lethal intent as he prepared to signal his cavalry.
"General Guan," a voice called out, steady and calculating. Yu Jin stepped forward, raising a hand. "Hold your ground."
Guan Yu's majestic brow furrowed, his expression freezing like carved stone. "We wait longer? The enemy is divided."
"The General's heavy cavalry is our ultimate trump card—the blade that must not just cut, but decapitate," Yu Jin replied, pointing a long finger across the rushing waters toward the west bank. A smirk played on his lips as he locked eyes with the grand banner of Yan Liang. "Look there. If you strike now, you will scatter them, yes. But Yan Liang is a veteran; seeing a tidal wave of iron coming, he will simply slip away under the cover of his guards. Wait until his center bleeds. Wait until his shield is stripped bare. Then, you strike the decisive blow."
Guan Yu followed Yu Jin's gaze. Under the fluttering command banner, Yan Liang was still ringed by dense, bristling walls of infantry.
The urge to spill blood burned hot in Guan Yu's chest, but the allure of a pristine, undisputed warlord's head was greater. After a tense heartbeat, the giant nodded slowly.
"Very well. I shall play by your ledger, Wen Ze."
*Biu— Biu— Biu!*
At Yu Jin's signal, a cascade of whistling arrows erupted from various hidden outposts along the ridge, their shrieks echoing across both banks. It was the symphony of the trap springing shut.
The Xuzhou soldiers, who had been feigning a frantic retreat, stopped on a dime. Orderly shouts cut through the panic as officers slammed their shields forward. In the blink of an eye, the fleeing rabble transformed into a wall of interlocking steel.
Yan Liang's vanguard, halfway across the river, froze. The prey had just turned into a predator. Before they could process the shift, Sun Guan roared like a feral beast and led the Xuzhou counter-charge, plunging straight into the confused mass of the enemy.
Standing high on his command chariot on the west bank, Yan Liang felt a sudden, icy jolt in his chest. The whistling arrows weren't just signals—they were a death knell.
Suddenly, the southern flank erupted. Xu Rong and his legendary Three Thousand Camp tore into the east bank like a black wave, executing a flawless pincer movement. The temporarily conscripted civilians making up Yan Liang's frontline didn't just break; they dissolved.
"Get across! Fast! Support them!" Yan Liang roared, his face purpling as he gripped the chariot's railing.
On the east bank, Wen Chou was still blind to the scale of the disaster, naively believing this was a mere skirmish over his vanguard. He pushed more men into the bottleneck of the river crossing.
"Report!" A blood-splattered scout collapsed near Yan Liang's chariot. "General! An ambush has broken through our southern flank on this side of the river!"
Yan Liang's breath hitched. "How many?"
"Over... over two thousand!"
Yan Liang let out a sharp, ragged breath, his shoulders dropping slightly. *Only two thousand.* "Fool, you frightened me for nothing. Order the right army to pivot and crush them. Do not let them breathe on the central command!"
But the battlefield is a fickle master.
Within minutes, the sky seemed to tremble. A thunderous chant rose from the south, so loud it rattled the teeth in Yan Liang's mouth:
> *"The will to break the formation! To die without retreat!"*
It wasn't the sound of two thousand men; it was the sound of a living avalanche. The right army wasn't fighting; they were being slaughtered.
Another messenger, missing an arm, stumbled into the command circle. "General! The right army... it's gone! The enemy is too fierce! They are through!"
Yan Liang turned white. Less than fifteen minutes? An army of thousands routed by a force a fraction of their size? Panic, cold and sharp, finally gripped him. "Central guards, shift south! Rear army, move up! Reinforce the flank now!"
High on the northern ridge, Yu Jin watched the chaotic shifting of Yan Liang's banners through the dust. The central guard was thinning. The perimeter was hollow.
Yu Jin's eyes blazed. "General Guan! The stage is set!" He pointed a dramatic hand toward the open pontoon bridge. "Bypass the meatgrinder on the east bank. Cross the river. Take his head!"
"The day is ours," Guan Yu rumbled.
He strode down the hill, his green robe billowing like a storm cloud. He leapt onto his massive warhorse—a legendary beast standing nearly 1.8 meters at the shoulder, a gift from the northern tribes.
"Gentlemen," Guan Yu lifted his long spear, his voice resonating over the thundering hooves. "Follow me, and write your names in history!"
"Kill!"
The hidden cavalry unleashed their pent-up fury, bursting from the tree line like a dam breaking. Guan Yu and Zhao Yun rode at the apex of the wedge, a two-headed dragon cutting through the chaos. Guided by the precise waves of Yu Jin's command flag from the hill, they ignored the main battle entirely, carving a clean path straight toward the pontoon bridge.
"Those who block me, perish!" Guan Yu roared.
The sheer speed of his mount was terrifying. The giant horse exploded forward, leaving the rest of the cavalry in the dust.
"Yun Chang! Slow down!" Zhao Yun shouted from behind, desperately trying to keep pace, but the standard horses of the vanguard were already lagging twenty paces behind Guan Yu's monstrous stride.
"Zilong, command the main force!" Guan Yu shouted back, never breaking his gaze from the west bank. "I will return with his head!"
He slammed his spurs into the horse, and the beast practically flew across the wooden planks of the pontoon bridge.
To the soldiers of Yan Liang's army, it did not look like a man approaching. Guan Yu, already over two meters tall, sitting atop a towering stallion, presented a terrifying three-meter silhouette of muscle, silk, and steel. He looked like an ancient deity of war materialized from the mist. Soldiers didn't try to fight him; they threw themselves into the river just to escape his path.
Two hundred paces. One hundred paces. Fifty paces.
"Stop him! Protect the General!" Yan Liang finally noticed the green-clad demon tearing through his lines.
Ever since Zhang Liao had taught him a brutal lesson at the Battle of Mengjin about the dangers of fighting on the front lines, Yan Liang had strictly commanded from the safety of a chariot. He thought he was being wise. He thought he was being safe.
*Where is the justice in this?!* Yan Liang screamed internally. *When I charge, they out-tactic me! When I use tactics, they charge me!*
But he was still a champion of the North. He wouldn't die cowering. "Bring me my stallion! Bring me my blade!"
He leaped from the chariot, swinging himself onto his horse just as his guards handed him his heavy polearm. He tightened his grip, drawing a breath to rally his men—but the sky suddenly went dark.
A shadow fell over him, suffocating and absolute.
"A mere straw-man, daring to hold a blade before me!"
Guan Yu's eyes flashed like lightning. There was no theatrical parry, no exchange of blows. There was only a thrust—pure, blindingly fast, and heavy as a falling mountain.
*Pfft.*
Yan Liang's world narrowed to a sharp, agonizing sensation of coldness in his chest. He looked down stupidly. The gleaming head of Guan Yu's spear had punched cleanly through his heavy breastplate, straight through his heart, its bloody tip protruding from his back.
"You... I..." Blood welled in Yan Liang's throat, choking out his final words.
Guan Yu coldly yanked the spear back.
Yan Liang collapsed from his saddle, hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. As the darkness claimed his vision, his fading eyes saw his elite personal guards scattered on the ground, completely frozen in terror.
*His bravery... is not of this world...*
Guan Yu didn't spare the corpse a second glance. With a fluid, terrifying grace, he dismounted, drew his waist saber, and severed the grand banner of Yan Liang with a single stroke. In the next breath, he claimed the general's head, tying it securely to his horse's saddle.
He remounted, his crimson face splattered with enemy blood, his long beard catching the wind. He looked down at the trembling masses of the central army.
"Your general is dead!" Guan Yu's voice boomed like thunder across the Qing River. "Why do you not surrender?!"
Miles away, a sweat-drenched messenger sent by Zhao Fu finally navigated the treacherous back alleys and bypassed the skirmishes, panting heavily as he finally caught sight of the central command hill.
He froze.
The grand banner of Yan Liang was gone. In its place, a lone, green-clad rider stood atop the mound of the dead.
The messenger dropped to his knees, his face pale as ashes. "Gods preserve us... I'm too late."