Chapter 200: Too Weak to Be Hit

Bai Lang's mounted martial skill is also masterful, honed in the past Chongzhen years by killing enemies and breaking formations—especially with two‑handed weapons, usually a Pu Dao in one hand and an iron spear in the other, though twin iron spears can also be wielded with ease. Bai Lang possesses not only brute force but also clever strength; when operating the twin iron spears he can move as if light snow drifts over a feather without adding weight.

Anyway, he now uses slashing less, to preserve the blade; he relies on thrusting. Bai Lang strikes like lightning, the spear tips flicking up sprays of blood, each thrust targeting either the throat or the chest—cats can perform the Hundred‑Split Palm. Bai Lang likewise, with hand‑eye coordination, is swift and precise.

Since he mainly kills by slicing the throat, the retract‑and‑thrust motion can be simplified—the blade on the spear can cut a half‑drawn neck without snagging, and when thrusting the reinforced spine of the spear protects the tip. Though less visually spectacular than yesterday's kills, the efficiency is no less—actually it saves effort.

The men before him are already gone; Bai Lang has pierced the battle formation. When he turns his horse to strike again, the infantry and cavalry of the He Zhuo Unit have already begun a frantic flight—anywhere is fine, just don't face that killing god. That killing god is impervious to blade and spear, with no hope of defeating him; the more men charge, the more die, who still has the courage?

Bai Lang's goal is clear—pierce the entire battle line, then capture all the He Zhuo commanders in one net, turning them all into heads. He is now charging the second formation; Bai Lang pats the horse's neck, his palm slick with sweat. "This horse can't go on; if we keep charging it will collapse. Forget it, I'll just walk and kill on foot myself."

To him, foot combat killing is even more agile and mobile, and the two iron spears don't hinder him; they're not some eight‑foot Snake Spear, yet a two‑meter‑plus iron spear can still be wielded freely on the ground. In ground combat, a single spear is actually more flexible, so Bai Lang threw his right‑hand iron spear, piercing two men, and then charged forward holding a single iron spear.

Facing cavalry on foot is not hard at all, really not hard; for Bai Lang it's just a tease. Picking off one at a time from a diagonal lower angle lets him avoid the cavalry's armor and thrust straight into vital spots more easily. Against infantry formations, a single spear can sweep aside those long swords and spears, and the rest is just easy killing.

Moreover, there are few soldiers left who can still form ranks before him.

Bai Lang merely shouted as a commander, and the soldiers before him began to discard armor and flee, daring not to meet Bai Lang's strike—such a display is even worse than the Ming‑late peasant army. "It's truly like a weasel hunting a mouse; one nest is no better than another," Bai Lang sighed with a laugh.

The doctrine's morale boost for them is now completely empty—more like a hindrance; in fact, since the Middle Ages the elite troops under this doctrine have vanished. In the coming decades they'll be beaten down without trouble.

Before Bai Lang appeared a woman in emerald‑feathered yellow robes, along with several heads of the Red Flower Society. "I see you are not barbarians… perhaps a slightly better breed than the locals. Are you blocking me to seek death?" Bai Lang's innate insight shrouded the battlefield; knowing those leaders hadn't yet fled, he was unhurried.

His Lightness Skill, honed over ten thousand miles alone, makes him doubt they could escape.

The emerald‑feathered yellow‑clad woman, a female slave, stared at Bai Lang, then after a moment dismounted, kneeling before him. "Why bother? By your law you're no longer bound to this tribe; even if I slaughter you all, it won't affect you." The Red Flower Society heads showed reluctant expressions, yet dared not look Bai Lang straight in the eye.

Each of these men fell into the formation, killing so that the entire He Zhuo Unit trembled—something ordinary martial artists cannot achieve. Even masters like the Twin Eagles of Tianshan would not match Bai Lang. The reason is simple: Huo Qingtong now surpasses her master in skill; her Three‑Point Sword Technique can easily suppress the sect leader Zhan Huwei's cultivation.

Yet such skills still bow before Bai Lang; one can only wonder how strong he truly is. Training to this level suggests the man before us is practically a demon. The Red Flower Society heads know this man as Bai Lang, the world's number‑one rebel, yet they still don't grasp what "Ming Prince‑Protector" means.

If it were the Chongzhen era, that Prince‑Protector would be at least a hundred years old; the title is emphasized—perhaps he truly is a monster who has cultivated to reverse aging.

Anyway, the one to speak is still the sect leader; Zhan Huwei dismounted, clasped his fists in salute, and for a moment couldn't think what to say, stammering out a single line, "Both of us are anti‑Qing… this…" Bai Lang cut him off, "You're merely barbarians trying to carve up the land; subduing such barbarians is the proper way. Could a pig‑tailed little barbarian like you still plead for mercy?"

"Anti‑Qing, anti‑Qing—look at your own attire… you call this anti‑Qing? Hahaha," Bai Lang roared with laughter, leapt a step into the air, and as he descended like a soaring eagle he hurled his long spear, pinning a bearded man and his horse to the ground.

"If you want to be anti‑Qing, change your dress first; raising troops to drive out the barbarians is the proper way." Bai Lang's unspoken thought was, "Cultivating the Daoist sect has no future."

Not long ago, when Bai Lang realized this was a world of books and swords, he recalled his long‑standing contempt for the so‑called Red Flower Society. Now that he's seen virtually all its heads, he feels no need for flattery, "By the way, do you Red Flower members have someone named Luo Bing? Let me see. And where is that Princess Xiangxiang of the He Zhuo Unit? I'd like to meet her."

In response came a thunder‑like roar and a palm strike, "What do you intend, sir?!" Bai Lang half‑turned, "Thunder‑hand Wen Tailai?" A mighty man pressed his palm forward, imbued with a tragic vigor. It seemed he knew he was no match, but seeing his wife about to be disgraced, he could not stand aside and sacrifice himself with a single blow—just a fated pair of lovers.

Bai Lang neither dodged nor avoided, simply caught his palm, "I don't get why you're in such a hurry. I never said I'd sleep with your wife; I only heard Luo Bing is beautiful and wanted to see what she looks like… So you can't help but come out to die? Hahaha, hahahaha."

The Golden Bell Shield's reverberating force instantly shattered Wen Tailai's arm, his meridians a chaotic mess, bones broken—purely his own power, Bai Lang had not yet added his own. Wen Tailai spat blood, prompting several heads to rush out simultaneously, fighting to the death, brandishing techniques, and trying to bring Brother Wen Si back.

And Bai Lang finally laid eyes on Luo Bing, "Oh, I see. Compared to Huo Qingtong, my female slave is still a bit lacking; that Qingtong, what does your sister Princess Xiangxiang look like?" Bai Lang stroked his beard and laughed, "Never mind, I'll go kill your father and brothers, then bring them back myself to see!"