Chapter 24: A Dreadful Might

A true master of the blade values momentum over mere technique—pressing ever forward, undefeated in a hundred battles.

With a thoughtful air, Chen Cong gently caressed the Tiger Lying Sword and stepped out of the room.

“Form ranks!”

“Draw!”

The Xiliang Iron Cavalry, renowned as the mightiest force under heaven, lived up to their reputation. Even with their commander fallen, a handful of assistant officers kept them perfectly arrayed, their formation unshaken. Behind them, several hundred conscripted soldiers from Gong County lingered at a distance.

Cao, ever the doomsayer, had been right. Wasn’t this the very definition of being a fish in a barrel?

“Zining, be careful—at all costs!” Cao Cao’s face showed deep concern as he shouted a warning the moment he saw the battle lines outside.

Chen Cong nodded slightly. The greatest obstacle now was not breaking through, but how to engage the Xiliang troops at close quarters. He had no horse, no bow—dragging his broadsword over to strike them down one by one was out of the question.

This was nothing like the duels he had pictured at the gates of a pass. In those contests, a warrior wore armor and faced arrows only from the front; a swift and alert champion could easily guard his vital points. But two hundred elite cavalry, though not many in number, arrayed in a circle could unleash flights of arrows from every direction. Chen Cong had no armor, nor eyes in the back of his head; after a few volleys, he would be riddled with arrows.

The county militia behind the Xiliang cavalry were not even worth considering. Calling them soldiers was a compliment. Their armor rate was virtually zero—save for the officer in charge, who wore leather, each man had only a thin tunic, and their blades were so flimsy a single stroke would bend them into scrap. Their spears were crooked and unwieldy—barely fit to stab, let alone fight.

Such rabble—Chen Cong could have charged through a force of ten thousand and come and gone at will.

“Loose! Kill him! Cough, cough—” Zhang Xiu, pale and struggling for breath, forced out the order, coughing up dark blood as he did.

Rather than fear, Chen Cong felt a surge of joy at the sound, cursing himself for being foolish. The old adage rang in his ears: “Shoot the horse before the man, capture the king before the bandits.” Yet he had been fixated on engaging the cavalry up close.

If charging on foot was impractical, why not let the Xiliang cavalry deliver themselves into his reach?

The plan was set.

Dragging his sword, Chen Cong advanced, rushing toward Zhang Xiu through the hail of arrows. Every arrow he could deflect, he swept aside with his blade; those he could not, he left to fate.

With a hiss, a volley of arrows struck—five found their mark in Chen Cong’s flesh.

“Zining!” Seeing his beloved son-in-law wounded, Cao Cao’s eyes burned with anguish. With a cry, he drew his sword to rush out.

Cunning as he was, Cao Cao was also a man of deep feeling. Humans are creatures of contradiction. Having placed so many hopes in his son-in-law, he would rather die with him than live with regret. Better to enter the afterlife together, their bond unbroken.

Fortunately, Shi A was quick to grab hold of him.

“Let go!” Cao Cao, ungrateful for the intervention, glared so fiercely that Shi A’s heart trembled.

“Do not fear, my lord. Eldest brother is unharmed.”

“Unharmed? Zining has no armor, struck by so many arrows—how could he possibly—” Cao Cao’s protest died on his lips as he saw Chen Cong, undaunted, still charging forward.

Shi A was right—Chen Cong truly was unscathed.

The thud of arrows striking flesh was terrifying enough, even more so when they landed squarely on the body. Chen Cong had been startled at first, charging on with little more than hot blood to sustain him.

But as he ran, he realized something was off. His unnatural physique seemed to offer more than mere strength. Though the distance was only ten paces, and the Xiliang archers drew their bows with all their might, the arrows tore into his flesh but never reached the bone. Blood flowed from his arms, shoulders, and thighs, but the pain was mild—little worse than a shallow cut.

To say it didn’t hurt at all would be bravado; to call it unbearable would be exaggeration.

Chen Cong did not slow. Before the Xiliang men could notch a second volley, he was upon Zhang Xiu.

With their commander endangered, the Xiliang cavalry were thrown into chaos.

“What are you waiting for? Draw your bows!”

“Fools! Do you want to kill the young general? Drop your bows, draw your lances—protect him!”

Most of the two hundred elite cavalry were under Zhang Ji, though some were Xiliang veterans. The old soldiers cared nothing for the young general; they belonged to the right wing, under Hua Xiong. They barely respected Zhang Ji, let alone Zhang Xiu. With glory within their grasp, they drew their bows and loosed.

Zhang Ji’s men, by contrast, saw protecting the young general as their foremost duty—failure meant death. They dropped their bows, snatched up their lances, and closed ranks.

In the confusion, a portion of the Xiliang cavalry inadvertently shielded Chen Cong from the second volley.

Cries of pain and curses filled the air as men fell from their horses. The formation was broken, and the advantage shifted.

Without the deadly hail of arrows, the Xiliang cavalry were little more than targets in Chen Cong’s eyes.

A single volley of two hundred arrows could not be entirely deflected, even by a hero with three heads and six arms, but close combat was another matter. Within arm’s reach, Chen Cong faced only a dozen riders at a time. With his prodigious strength and the Tiger Lying Sword, none could stand against him.

In the thick of battle, his great blade whirled and flashed. In the blink of an eye, the field was strewn with Xiliang corpses, severed limbs, and shattered bodies.

Crimson blood welled, warm and fresh.

Pale intestines flowed from split bellies.

Dark green bile oozed from ruptured gallbladders.

Flesh was trampled into unrecognizable pulp beneath the horses’ hooves.

With a thunderous roar, Chen Cong smashed a warhorse’s spine with his bare palm.

A cavalryman, thrown to the ground, looked up in terror at the blood-drenched man, forgetting even to flee. Not until Chen Cong passed by, sword dragging behind him, did he collapse to his knees, bowing his head in grateful tears for his life.

Silence fell.

In this hellscape of slaughter, only the scraping of the long blade on the ground could be heard—sharp and piercing.

The Xiliang men reined in their horses, retreating step by step.

For all the Iron Cavalry’s fearsome reputation, they lost their courage before a true demon.

They were afraid.

This man was too fierce—within the span of half a stick of incense, forty or fifty had fallen.

They might have grown used to blood and death, but this kind of slaughter—like ants crushed underfoot—brought only a deep, inescapable despair.

“It’s over.”

Chen Cong licked the blood from his lips, unsure of his feelings. There was the soaring pride of one man standing against a hundred, the shattering and rebuilding of his world view, and, most of all, the hollow ache of having crossed the threshold of killing.

Only hours ago, he had never killed so much as a chicken.

Zhang Xiu’s face flushed red as death closed in and his guards lay dead around him. He had hoped to meet his end with a hero’s calm, but now, on the brink, terror made his teeth chatter and tears stream down his face.

Yet Chen Cong merely passed him by, dragging his sword, never sparing him a glance. At a leisurely pace, he entered the stables and led out three horses.

Wherever he walked, the Xiliang men parted to let him pass.

“Father-in-law, Second Brother, let’s go home to Qiao County.” Chen Cong smiled, relaxed as if inviting friends on a spring outing.

The dying sunlight gilded his bloodstained smile, making it all the more fearsome.

“Eldest Brother, you—” Shi A looked at the arrows still lodged in his body.

Chen Cong nonchalantly pulled one from his shoulder, flesh tearing, his expression unchanged.

“It’s nothing. Scars are a man’s badge of honor.”

“Zining…” Cao Cao’s eyes grew red. If not for him—

“A true hero, Father-in-law, does not weep like a woman. When we get to Qiao, you can reward me with a few more concubines.”

“You rascal, thinking of women at a time like this! I don’t know whether to call you a hero among men or a shameless rogue.”

“Haha, I’m only criticizing the dregs of feudalism—just criticizing, that’s all.”

The sun sank in the west, their laughter fading into the distance.

Only when the three had vanished from sight did the Xiliang cavalry dismount and begin to gather their fallen comrades.

Zhang Xiu threw himself to the ground, pounding his head in shame and fury.

“I am Sima under the Cavalry Command of the Northern Region, known as the Spear King of the North—Zhang Xiu! Ah—!”

It was nothing to be outmatched on the field, but what he hated was his own lack of courage to even declare his name.

He had lost the man, lost the battle, and brought shame upon his uncle and mentor. As he finished, he spat blood and collapsed, unconscious.