Chapter 679: Victory

Amid the dense, rain-like drumming of hooves, two torrents of cavalry on the great earth finally collided head-on. "Neigh..." — the agonized screams of horses, the muffled sounds of impact, and the shrill howls of warriors from both sides intertwined into one.

The sickening crack of breaking bones could be heard without pause; shattered weapons danced before the eyes; a red mist of blood spread everywhere; and fragments of flesh and blood flew into the air.

Overturned horses rolled and screamed; some fallen riders were trampled into pulp in the blink of an eye.

Among the first rank of Guard Corps warriors, some were sent flying in various postures. Not far from Han Chao, a rider collided with an oncoming Mongol rider. Amid the great crash and spray of blood, both warhorses simultaneously shattered into a mess of broken bones. Both spewed blood from their mouths and tumbled into the air.

Boom! Boom!

As the cavalry formations of both sides collided, men and horses were thrown into chaos everywhere, and all manner of sounds erupted.

However, in this brutal clash of cavalry torrents, the Feathered Cavalry held a great advantage.

Although their riding skill was inferior to the Tartars', their formation was dense, and the Mongol riders, unaccustomed to such tactics, were already cowed before the fight. Their horse power, momentum, and formation had not been fully unleashed. Facing the Feathered Cavalry, whose momentum was at its peak and who held a supreme advantage in the collision, how could they be a match?

Some Mongol riders, seeing the cavalry wall charging at them, hesitated in terror and tried to dodge. The result went without saying.

Amid earth-shaking battle cries, the first rank of Feathered Cavalry, passing like a wall, was like a giant scythe cutting through weeds in a field, overturning a vast swath of Tartar soldiers and making the Mongol riders who passed through even sparser. Then, they had to face the fourteen ranks of wall-like cavalry formations behind.

The Feathered Cavalry's tactic of advancing like a wall displayed its might.

In truth, for the Tartar riders, they were unwilling to collide head-on with the Feathered Cavalry. Their advantage lay in mounted archery, not in bumper cars.

It was just that the Feathered Cavalry's formation was too dense, nearly horse against horse. Although there were gaps between the horses, in the midst of rapid movement, to skillfully slip through in that instant required top-tier riding skill and an extremely sharp ability to predict.

Even if horses have an instinct to find gaps on their own, in most cases, a collision was unavoidable whether they wanted it or not.

And the Mongol riders' sparse formation, facing this kind of cavalry wall, was clearly at a disadvantage. Yet they did not know how to respond. The era of the Mongol army's heavy cavalry had long since passed; what remained was mostly experience in skirmishing and mounted archery.

Even if some in their ranks were equipped with long spears and heavy axes, they could not organize such a dense formation.

"Die!"

Amid the terrible screams of horses, Han Chao, with extreme violence, bodily slammed an oncoming Tartar rider and sent him flying. As the opponent screamed, Han Chao only saw red before his eyes, not knowing what had been splattered onto his body.

In the whistling instant as the two horses crossed, the hook-scythe spear in his hand, meeting a Tartar's terrified gaze, instantly pierced his throat, sending him tumbling into the dust.

The web of his hand went slightly numb, but the shaft of his hook-scythe spear was made of lance material, extremely resilient. After piercing an enemy, it instantly carried their body away, preventing the hook-scythe spear from being torn from his hand.

A figure flashed again; Han Chao pulled back his hook-scythe spear, and another Tartar let out a scream as a mist of blood sprayed from his neck. He subconsciously controlled his horse to pass by, leaving him for the Feathered Cavalry warriors in the rear ranks.

Where the army banner was, and the conspicuous general's armor on Han Chao's body, inevitably drew the attention of some Tartars. The direction they ran subconsciously turned toward Han Chao. Slaying a general and capturing a banner, in any era, was a manifestation of honor; their eagerness for merit was not strange.

But as the commander of an army, Han Chao's warhorse was excellent, carefully bred at the Jingbian Army's horse farm. This stout, powerful, and fierce horse charged violently, successively knocking over several Tartars who did not know their place, and even trampling some of the fallen to death.

Coupled with his skilled horsemanship and his adept use of the cavalry spear, he stabbed multiple men in a short time.

Facing the dense cavalry wall surging toward them, these Tartars who wanted to slay the general and capture the banner could not help but feel hesitation and panic. But once the horses' power was unleashed, the two sides closed in an instant, leaving no time for further thought. First, some were sent flying by the dense formation.

Some Tartars, relying on their superb riding skill, tried to slip through the gaps, but what greeted them were the sabers to the left and right.

Even if they were not cut down by this rank, there was still the slashing of the warriors in the rank that followed. Although cutting a man in high-speed motion was not easy, with enough people slashing, someone would always land a hit. The dense formation completely compensated for the Feathered Cavalry's lack of riding skill.

A stout Tartar soldier came over, relying on his decent riding skill to barely rush into a gap, brandishing a heavy axe, wanting to hack at the standard-bearer to Han Chao's right. But he only paid attention to one side, not expecting that a warrior beside him, with quick hands and sharp eyes, would give him a saber slash, sending him unwillingly tumbling from his horse.

In a short time, the Feathered Cavalry, maintaining their dense formation, were like a giant hammer whistling through, successively crashing through multiple layers of the Mongol cavalry formation, overturning them in swaths. The Tartars' sparse formation was fundamentally unable to withstand the Feathered Cavalry's charge.

Another round of men and horses thrown into chaos. After deeply stabbing into a Tartar's chest and belly, Han Chao's hook-scythe spear was carried away by that man. He dodged a heavy hammer swung at him, waved his fine steel sword, and slashed at the neck of an armored Tartar, sending him tumbling off his horse.

In mounted combat, if the enemy is armored, it is best to slash backward rather than forward, to prevent the weapon from getting stuck.

He swept his gaze to the corner of his eye; the guards around him had again decreased in number. But the robust standard-bearer beside him still shouted loudly, holding aloft the great silver eagle banner of the Xuanwu Army. Looking again at the Tartars ahead, they were clearly in great chaos. More and more of them showed hesitation and panic in their eyes.

"Maintain formation! The final charge!"

Han Chao shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Maintain formation! Man to man, horse to horse."

"Feathered Cavalry, ten thousand victories!"

The charging cavalrymen, exhausted yet exhilarated, shouted loudly. It was almost over; the Tartars could barely hold on.

They drew close to each other, spurring their horses to fill the gaps and empty spots left by fallen brothers. They formed up denser and denser, even denser than at the very beginning, as if their shoulders were about to press against each other's. They were brothers in life and death, fighting side by side.

They once again extended their uniform sabers.

"Advance like a wall!"

"Feathered Cavalry, forward!"

Heavy hooves pounded the grassland earth. "Whuff... whuff..." The snorting of the horses beneath the warriors holding aloft glittering sabers had merged into one continuous sound. Many of the horses' bodies were already steaming with rising heat.

"Kill all the Tartars!"

An even tighter, tide-like cavalry wall surged forward. The Mongol riders ahead grew increasingly terrified. These Ming troops had gone mad.

They no longer wished to face off and charge against the Feathered Cavalry. Many men and horses screamed and fled to the two sides, or shouted and dodged chaotically. Those who could not dodge in time were successively knocked over and struck to the ground, emitting shrill, indescribable sounds of dying despair.

From the moment the Feathered Cavalry launched their attack until now, it could be said they had swept through like splitting bamboo. They had crashed through from beginning to end; the cavalry wall tactic had achieved a most illustrious battle record.

Finally, Han Chao's vision cleared. Before him was empty; there were no more Tartar riders. The enemy formation had been broken through by them.

And not far ahead lay a stretch of undulating hills. At the core of the hills were some sparse woods, like hitching posts, to which were tethered dense clusters of horses, loaded with bags large and small, carrying who knew what.

Some Tartars stood on the hills. At this moment, they watched in stunned disbelief as rank after rank of Ming cavalry came on like a wall, watching those raised sabers gleaming with a cold, sinister light under the sun. No matter how they thought, they could not understand how the Jingbian Army had broken through their own men and reached the rear.

At first, when the Mongols of the newly attached camp were trapped, they had been elated, thinking victory was at hand. When they saw the Jingbian Army cavalry move out, their faces were full of mockery and disdain. The result had exceeded everyone's expectations.

This was truly...

There was no time to care. Right now, the Jingbian Army cavalry was charging over with overwhelming momentum. Whether to fight or flee had to be decided immediately.

But if they fought, there were only a few hundred men here, plus some women and children. Since the Jingbian Army cavalry could break through their own army's interception, the combat power of these cavalrymen was immediately elevated to the highest level in their minds. Fighting was clearly not a good option.

Yet if they did not fight, there was no time in this short moment to pack up all their belongings and run. This area was the key ground where the various tribes going into battle stored their baggage and horses; no loss could be tolerated. Should they stay and hold fast, waiting for reinforcements to arrive from over there?

They argued fiercely, shouting and roaring at each other, blaming one another.

Although there were over four thousand able-bodied men on the battlefield, they were a composite of many tribes, and not everyone had the heart for battle. Some, in particular, were already afraid and insisted on avoiding the fight first. As for the baggage, they could wait for their own cavalry to catch up and retake it later.

Compared to baggage and horses, in their hearts, their own petty lives were naturally more important. Since the Jingbian Army could break through the battle formation, dealing with these men and horses in the rear was clearly a simple matter. If they hesitated any longer, they would all be wiped out in one pot.

Boom, boom, boom. The heavy hoofbeats drew nearer. Across the grassland covered with wildflowers and weeds, those Jingbian Army cavalrymen drew closer. They held their sabers high, their iron hooves striking the ground with a rhythmic, muffled sound. As their icy killing aura spread, many faces changed color, and fear spread through their hearts.

The Tartars, great and small, on the hills also saw that on the flanks and rear of those Jingbian Army cavalrymen, many Mongol traitors were also spurring their horses in pursuit. The men and horses probably numbered no less than four or five thousand. Their own side likely could not withstand even a single round.

There was no more hesitation. The Tartars, great and small, on the hills fled one after another. Those who feared death immediately mounted their horses and left, not daring to linger a moment longer.

Those with steady nerves even grabbed one or two horses on the way. But as a warhorse charged up the hill, in the blink of an eye, a tide of feathered cavalry flooded this stretch of ground — the slower ones quickly became souls beneath the blade.

"Ten thousand victories!"

The dense ranks of feathered cavalry halted their horses all across the hill. They shouted at the top of their lungs, brandishing their sabers with force, cheering and yelling.

Many of them were still dripping with fresh blood — impossible to tell whether it was their own or the enemy's. Their expressions were also quite weary, and the horses beneath them were likewise soaked and streaming sweat; many of the horses were still huffing and puffing heavily.

Yet despite the exhaustion, every man was elated, and the horses beneath them neighed again and again, as if sharing in the celebration of victory.

Ever since leaving the frontier, whenever they encountered Tartar cavalry, it seemed they had always been pinned down and beaten. Since joining the army, when had the officers and men ever suffered such humiliation?

Now, the Xuanwu Army's feathered cavalry, through their courage and daily training, had proven their mounted combat ability. They were elite warriors on foot, and once mounted, they were equally outstanding warriors.

And this was with horses that were nothing special. If they had better warhorses, they could achieve even more superior results.

Speaking of horses — this whole area was densely packed with them. The captured horses must number five or six thousand. From now on, the men could trade their fowling pieces for cannon, and even have two horses per man.

Looking at these spoils, everyone from Han Chao on down was stirred with excitement and delight. What did they need most? Good horses.

"Commandant, we've succeeded!"

Lei Xianbin spurred his horse over and shouted excitedly at Han Chao.

His expression was full of admiration. At first, when Han Chao proposed striking straight at the core and using the feathered cavalry's wall-charge tactic, he had still hesitated. The battle had proven the tactic correct — they had succeeded. From now on, the westward campaign would have a trump card, and they would no longer fear mounted combat with the Tartars.

Han Chao laughed heartily. "Yes, Old Lei. The facts have proven that our feathered cavalry can fight."

The officers all laughed with equal delight. Lei Xianbin looked toward the Mongol riders surging in from that direction, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. "We've seized their baggage train — I fear the Tartars won't take this lying down."

Han Chao gave a cold snort. "I'm afraid they will take it lying down."

He barked the order: "All dismount! Form gun array and prepare for battle!" (To be continued...)