Chapter 525: Flesh and Blood

Xie Yike and his men surged forward in a rolling charge. The two front rows of Night Scouts, when thirty paces from the Qing cavalry, all raised the hand cannons in their left hands.

Among the opposing Plain Yellow Banner scout riders, most of those in the first and second rows were armored cavalry of this Qing force. Watching the Border Army Night Scouts raise their hand cannons in unison, many of them turned pale, their Adam's apples bobbing violently — facing the Border Army's firearms, there was not a man who did not fear.

Moreover, firearms were unlike their javelins, iron clubs, and other thrown weapons. The motion when firing was not obvious, making it hard to anticipate and dodge. By the time the trigger was pulled and the bullet arrived, trying to evade might already be too late.

Judging the distance between the two sides was the task of Ma Ziren, the Company Commander of the first row. He held a long saber in one hand, and in his left hand raised his own hand cannon, the hand holding the cannon utterly motionless.

His face was as still as water. He could now clearly see the savage expressions of the Tartars opposite. Many of them were already gripping their javelins and other weapons, ready to throw.

Estimating that the two sides had closed to twenty-five paces, he suddenly bellowed: "Fire!"

The roar of hand cannons erupted, and streams of acrid white smoke billowed up, instantly left behind by the galloping horses.

The first and second rows of Border Army Night Scouts fired as one. The Plain Yellow Banner scout riders opposite had long been fully focused. Hearing the gunfire, they instinctively tried to dodge, attempting to hide behind their saddles or the like — but how could their movements compare to bullets?

Blood blossoms burst from the bodies of one Plain Yellow Banner Tartar after another; they screamed and tumbled from their horses. Some Tartars' horses were hit, and in pain and fright, they bucked and bolted wildly.

In the blink of an eye, the first and second rows — even the third row of Tartars — had eight or nine men and horses hit and killed or wounded. The surging charge of the Plain Yellow Banner cavalry faltered.

But in an instant the two sides drew even closer. The remaining Tartars howled. Not only the surviving Tartars of the first and second rows, but even the Bayara of the third row, as they spurred their horses closer, hurled their javelins, iron clubs, and other weapons with desperate force.

Amid muffled grunts and cries of pain, these Plain Yellow Banner Tartars had, remarkably, mostly thrown their weapons with their right hands. Undeniably, their aim was true. Facing the incoming javelins, throwing axes, and the like, Ma Ziren and his men dodged frantically.

Yet some were always too slow to react. Beside Ma Ziren, a Night Scout warrior was struck square in the chest by a javelin that shot toward him like lightning. The immense momentum carried him straight off his horse.

A throwing axe came spinning over, missing Ma Ziren's neck by a hair.

Before Bandeng's eyes, an iron club trailing cold light shot swiftly toward his face. This iron club was like a miniature version of his own great iron hammer, its head covered in spikes.

Roar!

A low growl rumbled from Bandeng's throat. The iron hammer in his right hand seemed weightless; he flicked it up with ease. A clang rang out, sparks flew in all directions, and the iron club flew off to who knows where.

A Night Scout to his left, however, lacked Bandeng's reaction speed and misjudged the trajectory of a weapon thrown from ahead. A throwing axe slashed into the left side of his neck.

He tumbled from his horse. The blood at his neck gushed forth like a fountain. He clamped his hands desperately over his neck, struggling frantically on the ground, but the blood still poured ceaselessly through his fingers. His eyes were wide open — no one knew what he was thinking...

Still more Night Scouts, men and horses, were struck by iron clubs and the like. Amid muffled groans, they fell from their horses one after another.

The Qing soldiers' thrown weapons were devastating at close range, and they inflicted seven or eight casualties in men and horses upon the Border Army Night Scouts.

The Night Scouts in the front rows, in particular, suffered grievous losses.

But by now the two iron torrents had collided head-on, and the brutal cold-steel melee began.

With a furious roar, Ma Ziren passed an armored cavalryman in a flash. In the instant they brushed past, he barely evaded the cavalry fork thrust at him by this armored soldier. A gleam of blade flashed, and he slashed the back of the armored soldier's neck. Amid the spray of blood, he sent the armored soldier crashing to the dust.

This slashing method was a key technique of cavalry saber combat — striking the enemy from behind toward the front. This way, one would not lose balance from swinging into empty air, nor would the saber get stuck and fail to pull free. That style of cutting men by riding with the horse's momentum usually involved holding the saber horizontally and motionless.

Against enemies clad in heavy armor, however, it was clearly far less effective.

Jie Yifeng had pushed his horsemanship to its limit. Fixing his eyes on an armored cavalryman ahead wielding a tiger-tooth saber, he borrowed the force of his horse's charge and brought his heavy iron hammer smashing viciously down at him.

That Tartar was likewise extremely burly. Beneath his tall, pointed helmet was a face covered in scars. His expression was savage as he strained to swing his tiger-tooth saber up and hack down.

But he had just thrown an iron club with his right hand and then grabbed his tiger-tooth saber. Before he could act, Jie Yifeng had already charged fiercely before him.

These Plain Yellow Banner Tartars had assumed the Border Army was just another Ming army unit and dared to throw weapons with their right hands at close range? In this life-or-death instant, because they had just shifted their weapons to their right hands, both their power and their anticipation were far below peak condition.

Even if his reaction was fast, his body could no longer coordinate. His tiger-tooth saber had just begun to swing up when Jie Yifeng's great iron hammer smashed heavily against the blade.

Amid a thunderous crash, the Tartar's thumb-webbing split open and the tiger-tooth saber flew from his grip. In his terrified gaze, Jie Yifeng's iron hammer followed through and swept across his skull.

A fine head!

A fine head, in an instant, became like a burst watermelon — split apart, flesh and blood flying in a rain of gore.

Even as Jie Yifeng's horse flashed past, some of that flesh, blood, and brain matter splattered onto Jie Yifeng's head and face, and some even entered his mouth.

A salty, sweet taste.

A thought flashed subconsciously through Jie Yifeng's mind: I've never eaten human flesh — so this is what it tastes like.

It seemed his thoughts could not keep up with his instincts. A tiger spear came thrusting toward him. The Tartar ahead wore gleaming armor, a vulture plume stuck in his helmet tube, his eyes fierce and cruel — he was a Tartar of the Forward Battalion.

This Tartar was, as expected, a battle-hardened soldier. Whether in timing or spear momentum, everything seemed exquisitely perfect. The only mistake he made was throwing his weapon with his right hand, leaving his power and anticipation just like the Tartar before him.

As the two horses crossed, in that lightning-flash instant, Jie Yifeng shifted his body slightly. The long blade of the tiger spear knocked the felt hat from Jie Yifeng's head, but at the same time Jie Yifeng swept his right hand across.

Though it was only a sweep, borrowing the horse's momentum, the force was terrifyingly powerful.

Boom!

His great iron hammer smashed heavily onto the right side of the Tartar's shoulder and back. The sound of shattering sinew and bone erupted. The Forward Battalion Tartar spewed blood from his mouth and, after his horse ran several more steps, still toppled headfirst to the ground.

Who knows whether, before he died, he regretted throwing his iron club with his right hand in front of the Border Army.

Frenzied shouts, the clash of weapons, the death screams of warriors from both sides — all unceasing.

This cold-steel combat was so brutal, the reaping of lives so swift. Yet because the Tartar scout riders had mostly thrown their weapons with their right hands when charging forward, the Border Army Night Scouts now held the upper hand in the fight.

Xie Yike gripped his cavalry lance, riding as steady as Mount Tai atop his speeding horse. Coming toward him was a Bayara officer of the Plain Yellow Banner.

He was not tall, but extremely brawny. His mouth hung open, revealing yellow canine teeth, and a low growl rumbled from his throat, giving him the feel of a wild wolf. He held a long pole-blade and had just hacked a Night Scout from his horse; his gleaming armor was still stained with that warrior's flesh and blood.

Seeing Xie Yike's cavalry lance aimed straight at his throat, he showed not the slightest trace of fear. His eyes instantly turned bloodshot, and another beast-like roar erupted from his throat. Raising the pole-blade with both hands, he prepared to slash at Xie Yike!

"Die!"

Xie Yike's delicate face twisted utterly. As the two horses crossed, the exquisitely crafted cavalry lance in his hand traced a subtle, mysterious arc and stabbed straight into the throat of this Bayara officer.

With a hiss, the long, gleaming blade of the cavalry lance broke through the resistance of throat cartilage, seeming to tear through the Tartar's internal throat tissue and muscle. Several streams of blood shot out.

A force transmitted into Xie Yike's hand. In an instant, Xie Yike's fingers twitched with uncanny skill, dispersing that force. At the same time, the shaft of his cavalry lance arched slightly, and in the blink of an eye, the corpse of the Bayara officer, who died with his eyes still open, was flicked away.

Simultaneously, the slender blade of the officer's pole-blade, still stained with blood, stopped just short of Xie Yike's head, then fell powerlessly into the dust.

In a flash, the space before Xie Yike cleared — the two sides had already charged past each other.

At this moment, of the thirty Night Scouts who had gone into battle, seventeen remained on their horses, while on the Tartar side, only thirteen were left.

They had set out with thirty-four men. Those killed or wounded by the Night Scouts' gunfire numbered only eight or nine men and horses; the majority of the remaining casualties had actually been inflicted in the melee.

They had chosen the wrong opponent, the wrong tactic. Facing the dregs of other Ming armies, throwing weapons with the right hand at close range might work; facing the Border Army, such a method led only to death.

Looking at the brothers remaining beside him, many still bearing wounds, Xie Yike bit his lower lip and roared again: "Kill all the Tartars!"

He wheeled his horse and charged back first. The remaining men all howled, turned their horses, and followed close behind. Jie Yifeng and Ma Ziren still galloped tightly at Xie Yike's side.

At the same time, blood kept seeping from Ma Ziren’s chest. He slashed another Tartar off his horse with one blade, but had also taken a slash to the chest from that Tartar. Though he wore chain mail underneath, it still left a deep wound.

……

Daisu’s heart burned with boundless fury — such an outcome was something he had never anticipated.

In the earlier fighting, he had not thrown any weapons, and with his practiced combat skills, he had used his tiger spear to stab two Ming night scouts to death.

But his individual valor could not change the larger situation; after all, the Jingbian Army night scouts were likewise elite warriors.

They had gone out with superior numbers, yet achieved such a result — now only thirteen of their own remained. Of the five Gebu Xixian brave warriors who had gone scouting with him, only one was left; the remaining Bayara were likewise few. How could this not make his heart rage to the extreme?

Looking at the warriors beside him, every one of them was already utterly terrified, their will to fight gone. Such a battle had dealt them a devastating blow. But the Ming troops were charging up again fast — if they turned and fled now, of the men and horses around him, he feared not a single one would survive.

He raised his tiger spear and roared: “We warriors of the Great Qing do not fear these southern barbarians — kill!”

The remaining Plain Yellow Banner Tartars also rallied their last courage, all bellowing and shouting furiously, brandishing their weapons as they wheeled their horses to charge back. With no way out now, they instead erupted with a beast-like instinct.

There was no longer any talk of formation; both sides wheeled and charged, separated by a few dozen paces, all rushing forward in a wild swarm, howling.

Xie Yike, shouting madly, charged at the very front, but Jie Yifeng and Ma Ziren spurred their horses and suddenly raced ahead of Xie Yike, and the remaining night scouts did the same. As the two sides closed in, the night scouts at the front drew their hand cannons and fired; the opposing Qing riders likewise hurled a large handful of iron bone-spikes and such.

But they had learned their lesson. They no longer dared to throw weapons with their right hands, switching to their left — yet this way, not only was there no force, but their aim was far too poor.

After a round of gunfire, another three or four Qing men and horses fell; on the night scout side, only one man’s horse was struck.

At this moment, Xie Yike’s side held a clear advantage, nearly two men surrounding each one. But now both sides were locked in tangled combat and had lost their horses’ momentum; instead they were jammed together, fighting inextricably. Many even dismounted one after another to fight on foot.

Xie Yike sat on his horse watching the battle. Ma Ziren was brandishing his long saber, locked in combat with a Tartar from the vanguard battalion; they had already wheeled their horses and traded several blows, still evenly matched.

But this Tartar was truly fierce, and with Ma Ziren wounded and his strength somewhat failing, he was visibly losing ground. Then he saw the Tartar spur his horse to charge again, swinging a huge long-handled axe, about to cleave straight down at Ma Ziren’s head. Xie Yike abruptly drew his hand cannon from the saddle.

Bang!

A burst of flame flared; the vanguard-battalion Tartar’s chest erupted with blood, blood streaming from his mouth and nose as he toppled straight backward. The great axe in his hand was flung away to who knows where.

Now on the field, sporadic gunshots rang out from time to time. The night scout warriors fighting fiercely would seize a moment to fire a shot at the Tartars beside them — such a chaotic melee was precisely the time for hand cannons to shine.

Just as the Tartars on the field grew fewer and fewer and victory seemed in sight, Xie Yike suddenly heard a roar — it was a Tartar with a dark, brooding expression and rough, ruddy skin, middle-aged, spurring his horse in a mad charge straight at him. This Tartar was dressed in the uniform of a vanguard-battalion soldier, with an otter tail atop his helmet and black tassels hanging from the helmet tube — very likely the leader of this Plain Yellow Banner scouting party.

Xie Yike’s eyes lit up; with a roar, he too spurred his horse and raced straight at this Tartar.

The two horses galloped faster and faster. As they crossed, a horse lance and a tiger spear both erupted with terrifying explosive force in that instant.

When the two weapons clashed, both men seemed to hear, in their eardrums, the sound of air being torn apart.

With a thunderous crash, the horse lance and the tiger spear both flew into the sky. The webs of both men’s hands split open, blood seeping out.

The immense force also sent both men tumbling from their horses.

Like a cheetah, Xie Yike’s neural reflexes reached their fastest. He flipped over and instantly sprang up, and saw that the vanguard-battalion Tartar opposite him had done the same.

At this moment, both men’s horses, amid shrill neighing, had fled far away. The weapons each man still had were on their respective horses.

With a shing, Xie Yike drew the decapitation knife at his side; Daisu likewise drew his own smooth saber.

Both were daggers — the small sidearms commonly carried by Ming and Qing soldiers alike.

The two eyed each other like tigers. Xie Yike was calculating the optimal attack distance and was about to lunge when he suddenly heard a roar from behind and to his right, followed by a heavy rush of wind coming at his rear. Xie Yike instinctively dodged — an iron bone-spike slammed heavily into his left shoulder blade.

A searing pain shot through him; it felt as if his internal organs had been jolted out of place. Xie Yike spat out a mouthful of blood.

Fury surged in his heart — how many years ago had he been struck by a Tartar arrow in this very spot, and now he was wounded there again?

His thoughts drifted far, but his hands reacted without the slightest delay. The decapitation knife in his hand flashed up, a gleam of blade-light — behind him, a Tartar Bayara, his whole body drenched in blood and lunging furiously, clutched his own throat with disbelief in his eyes, collapsed to his knees, and struggled.

And at this moment, Daisu spied his chance. Like a swift golden leopard, he suddenly lunged at Xie Yike.

The fierce rush of wind, the sharp, menacing shadow — it made Xie Yike instinctively narrow his eyes.

Suddenly his wrist flicked, and several sharp curved claws sprang out from the two wrist guards. These curved claws were forged of fine steel, gleaming with a chilling, terrifying cold light. If Xie Yike had seen a certain movie from a later era, he would have known that the weapon in his hands bore a striking resemblance to the wrist claws of a certain alien.

Of course, Xie Yike would not agree with that. He had given his wrist claws a resounding name: “Soul-Chasing Claws!”

With a clang, the wrist claw on Xie Yike’s left hand blocked Daisu’s sure-kill slash. His right hand thrust upward like lightning — the sharp steel claws pierced through Daisu’s throat and burst out through his entire face.

In an instant, several huge, bloody, mangled holes appeared across Daisu’s face.

Daisu’s body convulsed violently. His eyes bulged out, staring fixedly at Xie Yike.

Great clots of blood gushed from his mouth. He seemed not to have expected that after a hundred battles, he would die here.

Xie Yike watched him with cold ruthlessness. His right hand slowly twisted; Daisu’s body shuddered even more violently, until his entire head and face had been churned into mangled pulp by Xie Yike’s Soul-Chasing Claws — only then did he fall still, with only an occasional spasm.

“You damned Tartar, fight me!”

Xie Yike coughed once and threw Daisu’s corpse to the ground like a tattered sack.

Looking again at the situation on the field: because Daya and the others had charged out when they saw the tide turning, the addition of five fresh fighters threw the remaining Tartars into panic, and they were cut down one by one.

One Tartar tried desperately to spur his horse and flee, but was shot down by Xizi with a single hand-cannon blast. All the Tartars were dead; the battle was completely over.

……

Yet although their side had won a great victory, Xie Yike could not feel happy.

Thirty-three men had gone into battle. Although they had gathered up those night-scout brothers who had fallen from their horses due to injured mounts, the final casualty count still reached as high as twenty — many killed in action or gravely wounded. Of the remainder, most, like Xie Yike, carried injuries.

The only ones completely unscathed were the five — Daya and the others — who had initially stayed behind to guard the wounded and the dead.

Looking at the blood and corpses on the ground — both friend and foe lay everywhere — Xie Yike bit his lower lip.

Ma Ziren walked over clutching his chest. Bandeng likewise kept his head down, limping as he walked. During the melee, he had been struck by a Bayara’s wolf-tooth club; although he had deflected most of the force, the remaining power had still injured him considerably.

Looking at the brothers gathering around him, Xie Yike’s eyes reddened. Fighting hard to keep the tears from falling, he said in a low voice: “Clean up. We need to leave here quickly.”

Everyone nodded silently. So many brothers they had lived with day and night were gone, just like that — none of them felt good in their hearts.

And this area was still dangerous. If another large party of Tartar scout riders passed by, the situation would turn dire.

They moved swiftly, gathering the bodies of their fallen brothers, carefully helping the wounded onto horses. Those who could no longer ride were tightly tied on.

Some of the Tartar horses that could be rounded up were also gathered. Now, around Xie Yike and the others, there were instead many horses — but the wounded had likewise increased.

Xie Yike’s horse had already been retrieved, and the horse of the vanguard-battalion Tartar leader was also a fat, sturdy steed. Xie Yike mounted his warhorse and grimaced, feeling the searing pain in his left shoulder blade — he wondered if the bone there had been fractured.

Everyone mounted their horses, all looking at each other in silence. Seeing Xie Yike’s pained expression, Ma Ziren said in a deep voice: “Master Xie need not grieve. The brothers, from the very day they joined the night scouts, knew this day would come. Their heroic spirits will enter the Shrine of the Honored Loyal for worship; their incense shall never be extinguished.”

Xie Yike nodded fiercely, let out a long breath, and said: “Move out — back to camp!”

Suddenly Ma Ziren's face changed drastically, and he cried out, "Over by the Maiden River, there are Tatars coming."

At once, the night scouts who had spyglasses all drew them out and gazed in that direction. Sure enough, on the far side of the Maiden River, dust and smoke could faintly be seen rising.

Xie Yike ground his teeth: "It's true — judging by the look of their helmets and armor, those are Tatar cavalry scouts."

At that moment, Bandeng shouted, "There's dust and smoke ahead too."

Xie Yike hurriedly looked. After a long while, a smile spread across his face: "It's brothers from the Vanguard Scout Camp, and quite a few of them. Could it be that Master Wen has arrived?"

He barked, "Sound the signal gun and pass our position to the brothers coming over."