Chapter 274

At this point, Zhang Xuatuo's forces had effectively been split; Zhang Xuatuo himself, under the protection of Luo Shixin and others, was breaking out of the encirclement, while Bai Lang, attacking the ambush troops on the flank, had already scattered a group of them. With a shout from the commander, men and horses scattered, and those ambush troops were flung back dozens of paces. A cavalry officer of the Tile Hill Fort was just calling to rally his formation when Bai Lang spurred his horse forward, raised his hand, and brought down an iron flail upon his head.

Bai Lang's force was extraordinarily great, but this cavalry officer appeared to be a martial arts master as well; he raised his hand and blocked Bai Lang's strike with his lance. Although his arms trembled and he spat blood, the true damage was transferred to the horse he rode—the animal's four legs snapped outright, its body lowered, then its belly burst and intestines spilled as it died. The officer rolled his body, leapt clear of the dead horse, and with a feel at his waist drew out a soft sword.

The soft sword trembled and thrust toward Bai Lang's face like snowflakes, aiming to destroy his five senses and seven apertures, and if possible to pierce his skull through the eyes. 'Ah, this world is indeed far stronger than the Ming Dynasty!' Bai Lang sighed, lifted his left iron flail horizontally before his face, while his right iron flail merely thrust forward. This thrust also carried a fierce, violent wind; the cavalry officer had no choice but to thrust his sword into the iron flail, using it to push off and fly backward.

'A nameless junior officer of the Tile Hill Fort can actually do this—truly one cannot underestimate the heroes of the world!' Bai Lang exclaimed. He did not dismount, but instead circulated his Internal Force to drive the horse straight forward, and with the momentum he struck and smashed with both iron flails, completely enveloping the front. This blow was heavy and mighty, something the soft sword's yielding force could not dispel. Thus Bai Lang's flail crushed half a man, his thrust hooked a man onto the flail, and this officer lost his life outright.

The troops of the Tile Hill Fort scattered in all directions, and Bai Lang drove them to crash into their own formation. At that moment the enemy sent crossbowmen to shoot at Bai Lang in a volley. 'Go! Don't let you kill my horse, or I'll suffer a great loss!' Bai Lang leapt off his horse, gesturing to the cavalry behind him to take the horses away, 'Others, follow me in the charge!' Bai Lang waved his twin iron flails before him to deflect arrows, though more of that was to shield the cavalry charging with him; as for himself, he hardly cared.

Even if one used an eight-ox crossbow to shoot Bai Lang, his protective aura and formidable flesh would likely block it; penetrating three inches into his body would already be considered good, and the tremendous force conducted through the bolt probably couldn't break his bones, let alone seriously damage his viscera—this is due to the limit of this world; if placed in Bai Lang's own world, an eight-ox crossbow would at most pierce the flesh by a third, and after pulling it out he would be healed.

So what could these siege crossbows do? Although they pierced the leather armor on Bai Lang's body, they could not even get through his flesh, merely hanging on him. If a bolt struck his head, his helmet was iron, and after passing through it the bolt still could not enter his skull; the same held for his face. Bai Lang simply did not give them a chance to aim at his face, and he deflected them with his iron flail.

Bai Lang's body was studded with crossbow bolts, yet he still rushed swiftly toward the Tile Hill Fort troops; against such a fierce man the siege crossbow could only fire once, and there wasn't even time to reload. Bai Lang plunged in headfirst, and as he swept his twin iron flails sideways, bone-shattering and tendon-rending force tore a hole right in the enemy formation. At this range the siege crossbow's shot could pierce leather armor or even scale armor to kill the soldiers inside their armor, but Bai Lang simply charged in—wasn't that effectively impervious to blades and spears?

With such a fierce commander charging over, what morale could the Tile Hill Fort soldiers possibly have? Moreover, Bai Lang's slaughter was swift and fierce—charging in and cutting into the formation took only a few breaths, and already dozens lay dead beneath his iron flail; that savage force smashed men into chunks of meat paste, just looking at it would frighten someone to death. No armor was of any use, and whatever martial arts these soldiers had practiced were equally useless—when struck by that iron flail they still ended up crushed into a bloody gourd.

Bai Lang shook both arms, and his iron flails flew straight off his hands to the left and right. Coincidentally, the flails traced a straight line, each side impaling a dozen or so men, who were driven together in successive collisions, their flesh and bones smashed into a pile that ultimately mixed into a heap of flesh and blood before the flail's advance. What followed was Bai Lang's true forte: wherever he infused his true qi, he became a weapon of mankind.

As Bai Lang walked, he seemed like a tiger rising to its feet; although this world cannot project an inner vision to conjure a white tiger, his bearing as he walked, sat, or lay down could still make observers feel as if they beheld a tiger. Bai Lang employed Lightness Skill, kicking up a wind reeking of blood that surged into the Tile Hill Fort formation before him; with a left-hand tiger claw he swept from inside out, grabbing and pulling all the knives, spears, swords, and halberds that came toward him outward.

Naturally the owners of those weapons were also flung sideways, toppled this way and that by Bai Lang's tiger-like strength; each of these men's martial arts was no weaker than the twin dragons who had not yet cultivated the Long Life Scripture, or even stronger, but before Bai Lang they were nothing more than a heap of rolling gourds. Bai Lang's right hand came down like a wheeled great axe, and amidst the spraying blood he cleaved every soldier before him straight through the chest and abdomen.

This was Bai Lang's mercy—such a strike killed instantly, far better than being cut in half. Before him the view cleared outright; Bai Lang had blasted through the ambush troops' formation at the waist. He turned left and right, his subordinate cavalry continually streaming into the passage he had opened, pursuing and slaughtering the fleeing soldiers on both sides, while to his right the Sui army had stabilized the situation, continually cutting down the Tile Hill Fort ambush troops that had originally attacked them, and the routed troops charging forward resulted in a total collapse.

'Wait! I haven't killed enough yet!' Bai Lang roared, charging toward the scattered Tile Hill Fort troops; he still needed to drive them to crash into the main force of the Tile Hill Fort that was assaulting the Sui army from the front. At that moment a rider came out sideways with a spear, double-pointed soft lances weaving and dancing, and in the blink of an eye he unhorsed several Sui cavalrymen who had been pursuing the Tile Hill Fort troops. The man shouted his own name, 'Wang Bedang!' while continually rallying the defeated troops; Bai Lang saw this fellow, and a vicious grin curled his lips.

Bai Lang charged at Wang Bedang like a galloping horse; this Tile Hill Fort fierce commander, having seen Bai Lang break into the formation, realized that the Sui commander before him possessed extraordinary martial arts, truly the most suited for battle-array combat. Yet he retained a bit of confidence that he could fell this man—judging by the subtlety and variation of the double-pointed soft lance, Wang Bedang remained confident, feeling certain he could match this Sui commander in combat.

'State your name, incoming commander!' Wang Bedang bellowed, 'Bai Lang!' Bai Lang also observed the customs of battle formation; Wang Bedang would then not speak, trying to say nothing to Bai Lang—for now they were about to engage in combat, and uttering those words would be a loss of morale; once morale dropped, he would have no confidence of overcoming Bai Lang in battle. Both sides moved swiftly; Wang Bedang, aided by his horse's power, had his double lance tips wavering uncertainly, poised to unleash at the moment they crossed past each other.