High on the southern ridge, Zhang Xin stared at the unfolding chaos below, a sweeping grin breaking across his face.
His original directive to Xun You and the vanguard commanders had been simple: Hold the line, maintain an unbreakable defense, and wait for the cavalry to spring the trap. He had specifically chosen Gao Shun's Trap Camp to act as the anvil because of their legendary stoicism.
He had expected a grim, grueling defensive holding action. Instead, Gao Shun had turned the anvil into a meatgrinder, throwing Zhao Fu's massive army into absolute, shrieking panic before the cavalry even made contact.
When the scout's breathless report first reached Zhang Xin's ears, he had blinked in disbelief, hands propped on his hips.
"Is our army simply too monstrous," Zhang Xin muttered to himself, "or are Han Fu and Yuan Shao sending me sheep to slaughter?"
He paused, a flicker of pragmatic pride gleaming in his eyes. Han Fu and Yuan Shao were historical heavyweights; they weren't incompetent fools. No, there was only one logical conclusion: his own forces had transcended the limits of ordinary ancient militaries. They were simply too strong.
Snapping out of his brief self-congratulation, Zhang Xin's eyes locked onto the shifting tactical landscape. He was a veteran of a hundred clashes; he wasn't about to let a golden opportunity melt away.
The Charge of the Twin Tigers
When Zhang Xin had launched his lightning raid on Liyang, he had brought a formidable fist of over five thousand heavy and light horsemen. Aside from his elite Xuanjia heavy cavalry, the force comprised riders from the Three Thousand Camp, the Five Thousand Camp, and raw, aggressive You Province lancers. While Guan Yu and Zhao Yun had taken the vanguard cavalry to crush Yan Liang, several hundred fresh mounts had remained in reserve at Liyang.
Zhang Xin had swept them all up for this final blitz, commanding a devastating vanguard of over three thousand fresh, eager horsemen. Keeping a bare hundred as his personal protective ring, he split the remaining horde entirely between his two most brutal shock-commanders: Dian Wei and Zuo Bao.
Two apex predators, each leading fifteen hundred iron-clad nightmares, descended upon a fleeing enemy that had already discarded their armor and weapons to run faster. It wasn't a battle; it was a harvest.
"My Lord!" a keen-eyed scout shouted, pointing toward the shifting center of the valley. "The enemy commander, Zhao Fu, is rallying his core! They are trying to anchor a defensive square!"
Zhang Xin's gaze narrowed. Zhao Fu's central army was frantically slamming heavy shields into the dirt, trying to forge a perimeter.
Zhang Xin's Tactical Assessment:
Though his cavalry possessed two horses per rider, they had just burned through a grueling one hundred and eighty li long-distance raid. The warhorses were running on pure adrenaline and fumes. If Zhao Fu successfully locked down a disciplined, interlocking shield-square, the cavalry charge would blunt, turning into a bloody, stagnant swamp of attrition. He had to break the center now.
"Signal Zuo Bao and Dian Wei!" Zhang Xin ordered, his voice cutting like winter wind. "Ignore the scattered rabble on the flanks! Ignore the vanguard! Charge the enemy central command post directly! Tear down that square before it sets!"
On the blood-soaked plain, the command flags danced.
Dian Wei, encased in monstrous, interlocking black iron plates and wielding his twin, soul-reaping halberds, looked up as a Xuanjia messenger galloped alongside his stride.
"General Dian! The Lord orders a direct spike into the enemy center! Break Zhao Fu's square!"
"Understood!" Dian Wei's roar sounded like a cracking glacier. He swung his massive polearm, its weight whistling through the air. "Xuanjia Army! Lock ranks! Follow me and paint the valley red!"
"KILL!"
Slaying the Commander
Zhao Fu was screaming himself hoarse, desperately trying to get his central guards to lock their pavises. "Hold! Anchor the stakes! If we hold, their horses will die of—"
BOOM.
A sound like a thunderbolt striking a mountain shattered his words.
A human tank clad in black iron crashed directly through the half-formed timber-and-iron shield wall. It was Dian Wei. The sheer, terrifying momentum of his entry was so immense that his long halberd had impaled a Jizhou shield-bearer cleanly through his iron-rimmed shield. With a terrifying display of brute force, Dian Wei hoisted the man—shield and all—completely into the mid-air, suspended on the tip of his weapon like a macabre trophy.
Behind this demon, a tidal wave of black-armored Xuanjia cavalry poured through the splintered breach. The half-baked defensive square didn't just crack; it violently imploded.
With a contemptuous flick of his massive wrists, Dian Wei hurled the impaled, dying soldier into a cluster of approaching Jizhou spearmen, knocking them down like bowling pins. His feral eyes swept the chaotic sea of banners until they locked onto a glittering, ornate command silk—and the pale, sweating face of Zhao Fu beneath it.
"Vile coward! Leave your head for my Lord!" Dian Wei roared, his voice rattling the helmets of the surrounding men.
Zhao Fu's soul nearly left his body. "Stop him! Protect me!" he shrieked, violently wheeling his horse around to flee toward the western hills, abandoning his men to the slaughter.
"Those who stand in my way, burn!"
Dian Wei swept his halberd in a brutal, horizontal arc. The crescent blade sheared through the heavy leather and iron plates of Zhao Fu's personal guards, exploding into a mist of crimson. He spurred his stallion forward, trampling the terrified survivors before they could even level their spears.
Hearing the wet, sickening sounds of his elite guard being dismantled in mere seconds, Zhao Fu glanced back. Seeing the iron giant gaining ground with every stride, he lost all reason, screaming as he lashed his mount into a frantic gallop.
Dian Wei measured the distance with a cold, predatory calculation. Twenty paces. Too far for a melee strike, and the fleeing horse was fast.
But a tiger has claws.
Dian Wei let go of his primary polearm with one hand, reaching back to the leather brace at his small of his back. In a single, fluid motion, he hurled two heavy, solid-iron throwing halberds.
Whizz— Whizz—!
The short blades tore through the air with an ominous, low hum.
THACK.
One short halberd buried itself completely into the center of Zhao Fu's upper back, shattering his spine. Zhao Fu let out a strangled, agonizing scream, his body spasming as his hands involuntarily yanked hard on the reins.
The warhorse whinnied in pain, its front legs buckling as its speed died.
That single heartbeat of hesitation was all Dian Wei needed. His massive warhorse closed the gap instantly. As he drew parallel, Dian Wei's heavy halberd descended like a falling guillotine.
SPLAT.
Zhao Fu's body was violently hurled from the saddle, hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. Dian Wei circled his mount, leaned down with terrifying grace, and harvested the enemy general's head with a single, clean stroke.
The Stolen Banner and the Blood of Jizhou
"Zhao Fu is dead! Your commander is slain!" the surrounding Jizhou guards wailed, scattering into the wind like dry leaves. Some threw themselves into the dirt, begging for mercy.
Dian Wei, grunting with satisfaction, hoisted the dripping head and trotted back to the enemy center to claim his true prize: the enemy's grand command banner.
But when he arrived, he froze. The massive flagpole was already splintered on the ground, and the golden silk had been ripped down.
Standing over the wreckage was Zuo Bao, awkwardly dusting off his sleeves.
"What in the hell...?" Dian Wei's face contorted into absolute bewilderment. "Who the hell stole my credit for seizing the banner?!"
"Ahem... Old Dian, calm down," Zuo Bao said, coughing into his fist with an apologetic grin. "I saw you chasing the big fish into the hills. I figured, to prevent any magical turnarounds or hidden rallies, someone needed to drop the curtain on these fools. So I chopped the pole."
Zuo Bao's eyes instantly locked onto the bloody head dangling from Dian Wei's fist, turning bright with awe. "Is that... Zhao Fu?"
"Aye," Dian Wei grumbled, though his irritation quickly faded.
He knew Zuo Bao was right. In the grand calculus of ancient war, cutting the main banner was often far more critical than killing the man. If a general died but his flag remained flying, the soldiers would keep fighting out of blind ignorance. But if the flag collapsed, panic spread like a virus, even if the general was still breathing.
"Ah, Old Dian, you truly are a peerless warrior!" Zuo Bao quickly piled on the flattery, hoping to smooth over the tension. "Taking the head of a commander from the heart of a thirty-thousand-man army... it's like reaching into a pocket to pluck a coin! Magnificent!"
Dian Wei snorted, a rough laugh escaping his chest. He wasn't a petty man. They were brothers-in-arms, and Zhang Xin's military ledger was notoriously precise; their merits would be recorded accurately by the military scribes regardless.
The Call of the Homeland
From the ridge, Zhang Xin saw the grand banner fall and the enemy forces begin to crumble on a massive scale. He instantly turned to a personal messenger. "Ride north at breakneck speed. Find Yu Jin, Guan Yu, and Zhao Yun. Tell them the enemy center has shattered—bring the army down to bag the harvest!"
"Understood!" The rider vanished into a cloud of dust.
Zhang Xin drew his gleaming sword, kicked his horse into a gallop, and descended into the chaotic battlefield, flanked by his personal guard. But he didn't ride down to slaughter. He rode down to claim his people.
"People of Jizhou! Look upon me!" Zhang Xin's voice, amplified by his internal strength, boomed across the bloody valley like rolling thunder. "Zhang Xin of Julu is here! Your commander Zhao Fu is dead! Lay down your weapons and live!"
He reined in his horse, his majestic gaze sweeping over the trembling, kneeling conscripts.
"I am a son of Jizhou! I have no desire to spill the blood of my own countrymen! You are my neighbors, my brothers! Why do you throw away your lives for outsiders like Han Fu and Yuan Shao?!"
The words 'Zhang Xin of Julu' swept through the exhausted, terrified ranks of the Jizhou army like a soothing balm.
The frantic running stopped. The trembling spearmen looked at each other, their faces filled with sudden, profound realization.
Marquis Xuanwei... he isn't a foreign invader. He's a Julu man. He's one of us!
A collective murmur rippled through the thousands of soldiers. Why are we fighting our own homegrown hero to protect a bunch of corrupt politicians from the Central Plains? Our fellow villager says he will protect our lives—he will keep his word!
Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.
Like a falling row of dominoes, thousands of weapons were cast into the mud. Wherever Zhang Xin's white stallion trotted, rows of Jizhou men fell to their knees, bowing in deep, relieved surrender.
Zuo Bao, Dian Wei, and the returning forces of Gao Shun took up the chant, their voices echoing across the plains of Wei County:
"Surrender and live! The Marquis of Julu protects his own!"
As the crimson sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting a peaceful gold over the valley, the roaring din of the three-day blitzkrieg finally fell silent. The entire Jizhou relief force was no more.