Chapter 198: Overturning the Army, Slaying the General

Actually, even the relatively simple‑minded head of a household asked the chief of the headquarters why he wouldn't help the Hezhuo faction, and the chief gave a wry smile, "Is the battlefield the place for us to show our skills? And the four towns of Anxi…" He sighed, "I was originally a servant of the Han family." At this point the chief's mind hadn't completely deteriorated, and the chief who displayed the guards was even three degrees more heroic and sharp. Although the Hezhuo faction is treating them fairly well now, under the religious atmosphere it still feels a bit out of place.

It's only that the anti‑Qing part overlaps a bit; the Hezhuo faction actually wants to carve up the land. Other heads may not feel anything yet, but after Bai Lang's shouts today, the chief of the headquarters thought of this. Let the Red Flower Society act as henchmen for the splintered barbarians? Sorry, he can't do that now.

In truth, the heads have no desire to clash with the world's number‑one rebel, who is now slaughtering everyone—because they would truly die. If it were a one‑on‑one fight they might have some thoughts, but on the battlefield together with those soldiers they would likely be cut down outright. Not to mention, many heads watch the current battle array turn pale—this scene of flesh and blood flying everywhere is nothing like a jianghu brawl.

Bai Lang has already changed horses; the one he rode at the start no longer has the strength to charge—after all, Bai Lang himself weighs over two hundred jin, and he also has to fling the opposing soldiers, who each weigh over a hundred jin, forward. Doing that repeatedly is like pulling a sled; the horse isn't a tank, so it can't take it. So he kills and swaps horses; between thrusts of his twin spears, more than two hundred people have already fallen, and he now seems to have set his eyes on a fine horse belonging to a certain thousand‑household.

Bai Lang simply let out a shout, causing the opposing rider and horse to crash into each other; he kicked off the stirrup, used the momentum to spring from his warhorse, and after landing he swept his twin iron spears from back to front, forming a point ahead. That sweep instantly cut down a batch of Hezhuo soldiers approaching, and then he faced the unlucky thousand‑household. He couldn't be that brutal, lest he kill the horse for nothing. So Bai Lang casually blocked the opponent's curved blade with his left iron spear, and thrust his right iron spear straight through the man, pulling him off the horse.

The corpse hung on the spear tip; Bai Lang gave it a flick and let it fall. "The edge is rolled, even the spear tip is a bit bent—no surprise, this technique does roll the edge." Bai Lang's violent style works that way: he cleaves both flesh and armor in one swing; even though the iron spear has a reinforced spine, the blade inevitably shatters, something even folded‑pattern steel can't avoid.

Bai Lang sighed; if he didn't repair and sharpen them, the twin iron spears would become useless. He thrust his long spear backward, and the twin iron spears pierced several people before the last one crashed to the ground. Bai Lang drew a single‑handed iron hammer, swung it a few times, "Very light, that's all." After seizing the horse, the man kept killing, and the Hezhuo soldiers before him were already fleeing, so Bai Lang turned and charged at the Qing troops.

Even the Dutongs among the Qing troops knew he was a rebel, so they ordered their archers to shoot at him. Yet modern Manchu soldiers can no longer wield strong bows and hard arrows as well as before. "Logically, about sixty percent of Qing troops should now be using firearms, yet here they still rely mostly on cold weapons and bows; this is proof of some writer's 'unlearned' nonsense?" Bai Lang's inner tiger felt somewhat satisfied, and shaking his head and tail lifted his spirits.

This time, when Bai Lang saw the arrows being loosed, he thought, "I can't afford to lose this business." He dismounted to avoid losing another fine horse. He kicked off the ground and rushed toward the Qing troops as fast as his feet could carry him. Arrows flew in chaos; Bai Lang brushed them aside, and the arrows aimed at his face were deflected, while the arrows that struck his body were no different from hitting a massive stone of bronze and iron, falling down in a shower, some embedding in his clothing, all dropping as he moved.

"No blade or spear can pierce!" This situation made the Qing soldiers facing Bai Lang shiver, and left the heads of the Red Flower Society who had been watching him utterly astonished. In this age there are still such hard skills—couldn't the Shaolin Diamond Immortal technique achieve this? The heads, being old jianghu veterans, know that even the Golden Bell Shield and Iron Cloth are merely defensive kung fu; they might block sword cuts in a street brawl, but on a battlefield against a rain of arrows? No joke.

Among the Qing troops, cries of misery kept coming, because Bai Lang had already broken through. A horizontal sweep with his iron hammer cleaved heads and broke chests; even armored men could not withstand it. His left hand, whether clenched as a fist, formed into a palm, or turned into tiger claws, wielded a force as fierce as a great axe or hammer, laying the enemy low. The Qing soldiers' great swords and long spears were useless against Bai Lang; besides, his swift movements left no allies to block, and even when a weapon managed to strike a person, it could only tear clothing, not wound the person in the slightest.

When blades and spears cannot penetrate, such a person becomes a massive killing weapon on the battlefield. Bai Lang casually tossed the already bent iron hammer—under that hammer perhaps dozens of lives were taken; a misstep of his twin claws pounced into the crowd like a tiger. Once the Southern Dipper Holy Fist technique is unleashed, the wind of the Arhat Benevolent King Fist that resides within him instantly turns into sharp wind blades; although they don't reach ten zhang from his body to sweep the opponent, they are enough to cause sharp cutting wounds within a few feet.

Bai Lang's own hands and feet turned into long spears and great axes; wherever he swept, nothing could stand, and he carved a bloody passage through the ranks. Any officer of Deputy Dutong rank who saw him was doomed. The Qing army's front line also collapsed—but the two flanks, taking advantage of a later collapse than the Hezhuo faction, struck the Hezhuo from the sides, pursuing the fleeing troops; but once the central front began to retreat, they too had to cease their advance.

In this battle the Qing troops should have held the advantage—but as long as Bai Lang keeps charging into their central army, it will be extremely troublesome—if Zhao Hui is killed, that would truly be the end.

Yet Bai Lang halted his killing, not only because the tiger in his heart was no longer as ravenous, but also because the Qing troops now represented a force preserving national unity. Though he enjoys slaying Tartars, these Jianzhou Tartars' hounds still have some use. "The Ming also employs many foreign officials, never mind. Let the troops guarding this region have a free pass." He stopped the slaughter, turned back, remounted the captured warhorse, flicked the blood off his hands, and then rode away.

No one dared to strike at his back…

The shattered corpses strewn across the battlefield proved how terrifying this man was; he killed six or seven hundred people without a single blade or spear harming him—both sides combined. Although that loss is minor for two armies, if a single rider can break a formation and achieve that, it is terrifying. If this man insists on overturning the army and slaying the general, even Zhao Hui would not think he could escape.

In any case, the Qing soldiers who had ever faced Bai Lang were trembling all over, unable to stand steady; some laughed and cried like lunatics, even the grand commander Zhao Hui had nothing to say, but that déjà vu of some Baturu feeling grew ever stronger…