The battlefield is a crucible, trampling and crushing everything that dares to carry the slightest sense of self-righteousness.
In the northern border army of Beiliang, aside from a rare few high-ranking generals who wield weapons other than the standard issue—such as Ning Emei with his pair of short and long halberds, or Li Mofan, an unstoppable mobile arsenal beyond comprehension, and a handful of others who wield their own pikes—nearly all soldiers avoid carrying anything that might be considered heavy or overly intricate. As for cavalry duels, they are nothing like the common perception where two sides charge forward, collide, slow down, and then become entangled in messy melee combat. Such a pitiful sight would drive any experienced cavalry commander to the brink of despair, for it is a disgraceful waste of precious mounted troops.
In reality, cavalry engagements resemble martial artists sparring with weapons—two blades touch and then immediately separate, seeking the next opportunity to strike.
Right now, the Longxiang cavalry, numbering three thousand, is chasing a force of seven thousand Qiang riders. If their initial charge against the Ke’e tribe failed to yield results, then after creating some distance, Wang Lingbao would observe the enemy’s cavalry movements and decide whether to halt abruptly and turn back or to perform a gradual arc maneuver to prepare for a second wave of collective charge. If the second collision still fails to produce a clear outcome, Wang Lingbao would assess the damage to his own cavalry and decide which units should abandon their heavy lances in favor of lighter Liang blades, which should continue charging with lances, and which should unleash volleys of crossbow fire. On a battlefield where the tide of battle is uncertain, a small advantage can be expanded, but a single flaw can doom the entire army. From the “Grand General” Xu Xiao to the “General” Chen Zhibao, the two figures who left the deepest mark on the Beiliang iron cavalry, both firmly believed that the true strength of Xu’s cavalry lies in their patience and power to wait for the enemy to make a mistake.
Faced with such an impeccable enemy, the Qiang riders were undoubtedly cursed with the worst of luck.
These Qiang riders had thought themselves wolves entering a flock of sheep, expecting to feast heartily in Liuzhou and even dream of later rampaging through the wealthy lands of Central Plains, pillaging and burning at will. Year after year, they had heard tales of the wonders of Central Plains—endless fertile fields, mountains of silver, and women of all shapes and sizes, whose delicate skin, untouched by the harsh winds and sun of the steppes, felt like the finest silk. But in reality, their dreams shattered before nightfall.
Three thousand Longxiang riders slaughtered them like stray dogs. If not for the Qiang riders’ unique speed, they would not have lasted even half an hour under the relentless pursuit of the Longxiang cavalry.
The Liang crossbows, previously held in reserve during the initial charge, now began to unleash their horrifying lethality. The Qiang riders, seeking maximum speed, had even discarded unfamiliar lances. Their armor was merely the standard issue for light cavalry of the Northern Desolation, far inferior to the expensive, finely crafted armor worn by elite light cavalry under the generals of the Southern Court. The Liang crossbows, however, were monstrous hybrids that combined the best features of the ancient Qin and Feng crossbows. Simple to assemble and disassemble, they had been refined over two generations of master craftsmen in Beiliang, achieving near-perfect balance. Except for their rate of fire, the crossbows surpassed longbows in range, penetration, and accuracy. Throughout countless wars between the Central Plains dynasties and northern nomads, infantry armed with crossbows and mounted on carts had proven devastatingly effective.
Hence, it is said that for thousands of years, the Central Plains dynasties held back the hooves of the northern nomads with two things:
One was mighty city walls, and the other was powerful crossbows.
Among them, no one mastered the use of crossbows better than Beiliang. If Beiliang claimed second place, none would dare claim first.
The Southern Court of Northern Desolation was all too familiar with the Beiliang short crossbows, harboring deep resentment toward them. The Southern Chancellor Huang Songpu once sought to mass-produce similar weapons, but due to various complex factors, his efforts were repeatedly thwarted and yielded little result.
The Longxiang riders with the finest horses and superior riding skills were tasked with intercepting and slowing the Qiang riders’ escape, continuously firing bolts. Once a shot landed, whether killing or wounding, they ignored it completely. Even if a Qiang rider fell from his horse, the riders would not spare a glance for the easy kill. Instead, they left it to the following comrades without crossbows to finish the job with a spear.
Such clear division of labor naturally made the battle exceptionally brutal.
For these battered Qiang riders, the only stroke of luck was that the boy who had initially thrown a black tiger around and slaughtered mercilessly had, after his initial frenzy, mounted his horse again and ceased his killing spree.
At first, the Qiang riders had attempted to scatter in all directions to avoid being relentlessly pursued by the Longxiang iron cavalry. However, as soon as this idea surfaced, under the command of the imposing figure leading the Longxiang cavalry, the response was immediate. In addition to the Longxiang riders engaged in continuous crossbow fire, two thousand Longxiang lancers quickly spread out their battle line and then suddenly accelerated, raising their crossbows in unison. They nearly formed a pincer movement with the front-line crossbow riders, encircling all the Qiang riders. When the Qiang riders abandoned this idea and resumed their panicked retreat northward, the Longxiang cavalry gradually slowed down to rest on horseback. This more subtle display of force, compared to the open crossbow fire, chilled the Qiang riders to the bone.
The northern nomads were born horsemen, forged in hardship and thus naturally fierce in battle. Yet, despite their boundless skies and vast lands, their culture bred an inherent carelessness. They could charge fearlessly like thunder, but their chaotic battle lines were beneath contempt in the eyes of Central Plains tacticians. Their loud war cries, wild swings of blades, and even the sight of warriors lifting their butts off the saddle were traits that the disciplined Beiliang border army ruthlessly trained out. The Beiliang cavalry valued unity above all, never glorifying lone heroes charging recklessly into battle.
Huang Songpu, Liu Gui, and Yang Yuanzan rose to prominence in Northern Desolation precisely because they preserved the strengths of their own people while absorbing the essence of Central Plains military strategy, suppressing the negative traits of their own culture.
Today, the three thousand Longxiang cavalry were the teachers, and the Qiang riders were the students. The lesson was clear.
Unfortunately, the tuition was paid in blood.
Wang Lingbao calculated in his mind the Qiang riders’ retreat speed, the terrain and garrisons along the Southern Court’s border, and the speed of reinforcement from the other two Longxiang cavalry units. He considered whether to push all the way into Gusei Prefecture, launch a long-range raid behind Liu Gui’s back, and drive a spear straight into the rear of this Southern Court general. In the Beiliang border army, they held little grudge against the old Southern Chancellor Huang Songpu or Yang Yuanzan, but Liu Gui was a man every soldier longed to behead. The reason was simple: the northern barbarians constantly boasted, “Liu Gui alone is worth half of Xu Xiao.” Wang Lingbao could not tolerate it, and neither could the entire Beiliang border army.
As a seasoned border general, Wang Lingbao naturally had his own ambitions. Neither of his thoughts was selfish—first, to kill Liu Gui, and second, to engage in a glorious battle between his Longxiang heavy cavalry and the two elite Wangzhang heavy cavalry units.
Throughout the epic history of war, there has never been a true clash between light cavalry and heavily armored cavalry. Even the horse-rich states of Liang and Mang, during their twenty-year standoff, relied more on the mobility of light cavalry for raids and pursuits.
On the vast and blood-soaked battlefield of the Liang-Mang border, where the finest horses, sharpest blades, bravest riders, and the widest plains gathered, one day might witness the first-ever peak confrontation between heavy cavalry units.
Among the Beiliang iron cavalry, aside from the Snow Dragon Cavalry, the personal guard of the old Prince of Liang, the next elite force was the nearly six thousand heavy cavalry of the old Longxiang army.
The Snow Dragon Cavalry was the most precious asset of the Beiliang army, rarely deployed. Therefore, Wang Lingbao firmly believed that he had a great chance to show the world what a true heavy cavalry battle looked like, a battle that would be remembered for centuries to come.
History might forget men like Wang Lingbao, who lived and died as a mere soldier, but it must never forget the Grand General’s lifelong legacy—the Beiliang Army!
Wang Lingbao harbored no lofty ideals of serving the nation or its people. Did he resent the fact that Beiliang, which steadfastly guarded the northwest, was constantly schemed against by the Liyang imperial court and seen by the people of Central Plains as treacherous savages? Of course, he did—and deeply so!
But history could forget him. It must not forget the Beiliang Army.
Suddenly, Wang Lingbao saw the commander signal him. He quickly rode forward, and Xu Longxiang calmly said, “You will lead the pursuit for thirty miles, kill as many as you can, and then return to Qingcang City.”
Though puzzled, Wang Lingbao raised no objection.
Then, the deputy commander of the Longxiang army saw the boy flash a rare, sinister grin. He leaped onto the black tiger and galloped northward, leaping over the retreating Qiang cavalry, heading north alone.
Could there be a lone big fish ahead?
Wang Lingbao, of course, always welcomed more military achievements. It would be even better to show off in Gusei Prefecture. But he was no reckless fool—no amount of Qiang rider kills could outweigh the safety of Xu Longxiang.
Whoever had captured the young commander’s interest must be no small fry. Wang Lingbao immediately made his decision. He summoned several lieutenants and ordered sternly, “Within thirty miles, eliminate every Qiang rider. If even one escapes, you will lose credit for each one. If your merits are insufficient to offset your failure, you know the old Longxiang rule. For this thirty-mile stretch, you are allowed to kill as you please.”
The sun set in the west.
More than a hundred miles north of the boy riding the tiger northward, two figures were flying southward without mounts.
One was a middle-aged swordsman in a green robe, carrying the most renowned sword in the Northern Desolation—“Calming the Storms.”
His bearing was like that of a sword immortal.
The other figure beside him was astonishingly tall—nearly twice the height of a Jiangnan woman—and his entire body shimmered with a golden glow. His expression was solemn, like a celestial general descended from heaven.
A hundred miles behind them, a lone rider galloped southward, cloaked in a wide black robe, wearing a black hood that concealed him from the sunlight.
His fingers, gripping the reins, trembled constantly—not only his hands and arms, but his entire body, even his lips and teeth.
This was the price of resurrection through another’s corpse.
Precisely because he had paid such a terrible, sunless price to cling to life, he longed more than anyone for the Xu brothers to die—and to die far worse than he had.
He had indeed died before—torn apart by someone’s bare hands.
But even a broken willow can regrow.
He was Yi Jie Liu.
Through a forbidden technique lost since the days of the Great Qin Dynasty, he had returned from death.
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