Chapter 185: The Great Defeat of the Shu Army

The next morning at dawn, the Han army made their meals as usual, the entire force ate as normal, and afterward made no move at all. Wang Jun's orders were that, apart from necessary defense, the whole army should rest in camp and conserve their strength. The Shu army had set up their camp facing west with their backs to the east, while the Han army would attack from west to east; since the rising sun came from the east and obstructed their line of sight, the morning was not favorable for an assault.

The biggest activity was probably the various Army Commanders selecting their finest troops for use in storming the camps. After yesterday's disturbance in the commander's tent, though nothing had been said outright, everyone was more or less nursing a pent-up frustration. The imperial army in particular—all the regional troops were watching to see how they performed today.

When the spring sun climbed high, the Han army marched out in full force, heading for their respective assault targets according to the battle plan agreed upon at the pre-dawn council. Wang Jun led the imperial army and the Qi troops in the center, Zhao Kuangzan commanded the right wing in the south, and the Jingnan Army Commander Yao Yuanfu commanded the left wing in the north.

War drums thundered, and the assault began.

The Han army's great stir was naturally noticed by the Shu army, their direct opponents, from the very start, and they immediately went on alert. But with the experience of the past several days of fighting, the Shu troops didn't seem all that tense. In fact, watching the Han soldiers advance—shields raised, blades in hand, pushing siege carts, stepping to the drumbeat, maintaining tight formation, pressing forward cautiously—a junior officer inside the stockade even joked with his men: "These northerners never learn their lesson, they've come to throw their lives away again!"

The Shu commander-in-chief Zhang Qianzhao, who had hurried to the front of the camp upon hearing the news, was not so optimistic when he saw the scene. The momentum of the Han army's arrival was clearly out of the ordinary—especially before the central stockade, where that vanguard force of black armor and black banners was plainly the elite of the Great Han's imperial army.

Zhang Qianzhao was already in his sixties, but though advanced in years, he showed not the slightest sign of frailty, and could still draw a bow and wield a blade in battle. His beard and hair were shot with white, his face furrowed with deep lines—judging by his looks, he had probably been quite ugly in his youth as well. He was originally a man of Bing, of imposing stature, and had been famed for martial valor since his youth, enjoying considerable prestige in the army. That the Shu army had been able to withstand the Han army's assaults thus far owed much to his command and coordination.

"Pass the order—have every army, every stockade, every camp hold their positions tightly. If we hold off this wave of the Han attack, they're beaten!" Zhang Qianzhao said sternly to the messenger beside him. "And tell the southern and northern stockades to stay alert as well—no carelessness!"

Beneath the ridge, the spring wind swirled and blew, but it was abnormally dry. The Shu men were unaccustomed to the northern climate, and many of their lips were cracked and chapped.

When the Han army advanced into the range of the Shu crossbows and bows, arrows fell like rain, and the battle of attack and defense erupted once more—and from the very start, it climbed toward its most ferocious stage. Wang Jun, true to his word, planted his commander's banner before the enemy camp and stood openly on the observation cart to supervise the battle. Though shielded by guards with shield-carts, stray arrows still flew about unpredictably; Wang Jun showed no fear on his face, and the Han army's will to attack, driven by his supervision, was plainly resolute.

In warfare in this era, much of the time it came down to hard, brutal fighting, plus a bit of luck. Strategy and cunning, constrained by raw strength, often had little real effect. When two armies clashed, it came down to troop training and the valor of officers—and who broke first.

On the southern front, Zhao Kuangzan personally led four thousand infantry, made up mainly of his personal retainers and Yongzhou troops. His handsome features were set in grim determination, his eyes like lightning, fixed on the Shu army's southern stockade.

"Commander, let me lead the attack now!" Zhao Siwan's expression turned even more ferocious as Wang Jun's orders arrived.

"Not yet!" Zhao Kuangzan stopped the impatient, eager Zhao Siwan and calmly ordered the Yongzhou troops to advance first.

With a wave of the command banner, the infantry Army Commander led a thousand Yongzhou soldiers, covered by shield-cart troops and archers, in an attack on the Shu army's southern camp. It was not a chaotic swarm—they advanced in orderly fashion, with some semblance of discipline.

This time, the Han army on three fronts was holding nothing back. Basically, if the enemy could not be taken today, then Wang Jun would have to consider how to withdraw the entire army intact. Thus, once battle was joined, the clash between the Han and Shu armies quickly turned white-hot, with savage slaughter on both sides.

The sun gradually shifted westward. Within an hour and a half, the various Han army units had launched three assaults on the Shu camp in rotation, each more violent than the last. By previous patterns, the Han army would have already ceased fighting by now, but today they showed no sign of stopping. The Shu army's fortifications—especially the central stockade, the main target—were on the verge of collapse.

The Shu army on the defensive no longer wore its earlier "ease." Before the stockade, Zhang Qianzhao stood with his hand on his sword, sweat beading on his forehead. His old eyes swept over the attack and defense before the camp, issuing orders from time to time, dispatching troops to fill the gaps. Once it came to a full eruption of direct combat power, the Han army was clearly the stronger.

But Zhang Qianzhao also knew at this point that the Han army was running on a single surge of momentum—once that spirit dissipated, he would win. So he ordered his yabing guards to keep shouting before the ranks: "Hold this assault, and the Han army is beaten!"

Before the central stockade, Wang Jun watched the meat-grinder of a battle before the camp with a grave expression, his thoughts heavy.

"Expedition Commander, the Shu resistance is too fierce. They have more men after all, and they're rotating their troops—fighting them head-on like this is unwise!" General Qi Cangzhen ran up to Wang Jun's side, wiping the sweat that was stinging his eyes, and shouted to him.

The sound of arrows thudding into shields, shield-walls, and the observation cart came with increasing frequency. Wang Jun's position was a bit too brazen—the Shu archers and crossbowmen had long since begun aiming at him personally. Yet even while directing the battle from the edge of life and death, Wang Jun kept his mind perfectly clear.

"The first drum raises spirits, the second flags, the third exhausts"—Wang Jun understood this principle well. Right now, the Han army's morale was at its peak; if this attack were still held off by the Shu army, things would truly be in danger.

He now faced a choice. Behind him, he still had two thousand fresh imperial troops that had not yet been committed. These were his reserves, kept against unforeseen circumstances. Should he throw them into the assault? If he did, it would be a true all-or-nothing gamble, with no road back.

The fighting before the Shu army's southern stockade was equally fierce. After several attacks, the Yongzhou troops had already lost over five hundred men killed outright. At that casualty rate, combined with the disadvantage of attacking uphill, the Yongzhou troops were also nearing their breaking point.

Zhao Kuangzan's command banner had also been moved considerably forward, so he could direct operations at close range.

"Some 'imperial elite'—they've been fighting this long and still haven't taken it!" Zhao Siwan fumed at his side, glancing north from time to time, sneering.

Zhao Kuangzan ignored him, staring fixedly at a breach that had been smashed through one section of the Shu stockade wall. He drew a deep breath, called Zhao Siwan over in a gruff voice, and pointed at the gap: "Take your men, charge in, and take that enemy camp!"

"Yes!" Zhao Siwan, who had been stewing with pent-up anger, roared in response.

But Zhao Kuangzan grabbed Zhao Siwan by the front of his armor and yanked him close, saying to him with a fierce glare: "If you fail to take that enemy camp, and you're still alive, I will personally cut you down to give Wang Jun an accounting!"

Only then did he release him. Zhao Siwan stepped back two paces, saluted Zhao Kuangzan, and declared loudly: "Commander, watch the battle!"

With that, Zhao Siwan withdrew to gather his men. There were not many—only a little over three hundred—but every one of them was like a wolf.

Zhao Siwan was fierce and bold, but also cruel and savage by nature. He had three hundred men under his command, all of whom he had compelled to bear scarred faces like his own, hideous and terrifying, known as the "Ghost Faces." Their combat power was extraordinarily fearsome.

Zhao Siwan stood before the "Ghost Faces," stripped off his armor outright, bared his torso, and slapped his chest with his war blade, his face full of murderous intent: "If we fail to break the enemy camp, before the Commander takes my head, I will take yours first!"

"Follow me—charge!"

In short order, Zhao Siwan charged at the front, with his three hundred retainers behind him, surging toward the Shu stockade where the assault was beginning to slacken. But the Shu army had held out this long—it was hardly going to be that simple.

In truth, when the "Ghost Faces" went into battle, setting aside their combat ability, those scarred, furrowed faces alone were enough to terrify the enemy. They looked like evil spirits crawling up from hell, utterly horrifying, made all the more fearsome on this blood-soaked battlefield.

From Zhao Kuangzan's vantage point, he could see Zhao Siwan, bare-chested, howling as he led his men in a desperate charge. Reaching the Shu stockade, they trampled corpses, climbed the ladders, and scaled the palisades—after nearly two quarters of an hour of savage fighting, they were the first to break through.

With sharp eyes, seeing Zhao Siwan achieve his feat, he immediately ordered the follow-up troops to advance, and without hesitation personally led the few hundred fresh troops he had left, throwing them all into the breach.

At the northern stockade, the ferocity of the fighting was in no way inferior to the other two fronts. The left-wing commander Yao Yuanfu was a veteran who had fought all his life, and one of the rare specialists in external warfare among the generals of the Central Plains—famed for his exploits against the Khitan and the Tangut alike, and his troops were likewise known for their fighting prowess. Though old in years, his courage remained undimmed.

He planted his sword two hundred paces before the Shu stockade, declaring that any man who retreated past his sword would be executed. He further ordered that any soldier attacking the stockade who dared to look back would be put to death. He personally led men to supervise from the rear, executing over a hundred men on the spot under military law. The old general drove his troops with harsh discipline, and the effect was marked. Not long after the southern stockade fell, the northern stockade fell as well.

As for the Shu army's central stockade, under Zhang Qianzhao's command, it had barely managed to hold despite enormous pressure. But the Shu army's camps were interdependent by nature—with both flanks lost, how could the central camp stand alone? Collapse came almost in an instant. The Shu army, which had held out stubbornly for days, was routed like a mountain toppling.

On Wang Jun's side, in the end he never committed those two thousand imperial troops. War is fierce and perilous; as commander, the one directly responsible for the campaign, he had to keep some margin unless absolutely necessary. With victory already assured, he led his men forward to do the mopping up, razing the enemy camp completely.

In this battle, Zhao Siwan and his "Ghost Faces" won themselves a fearsome reputation, at the cost of nearly sixty percent casualties. Wang Jun's resentment toward him still burned strong, but compared to the joy of a great victory, it counted for little.

Wang Jun had won his gamble—a complete and overwhelming victory.