Chapter 321: Chapter 321: Encirclement Killing

Bai Lang marched without haste or panic; after all he had promised Wang Shichong to kill a battle for him, and if he were thicker‑skinned he could already return and claim he had finished. But Bai Lang would not be so shameless, so the next day he organized the whole army to continue forward; this time they were not lucky enough to capture a camp pre‑arranged by the Wagang Army. Therefore they had to set up a field camp, and Bai Lang ordered his two commanders to arrange the camp and night watches according to tradition.

Contact with the Wagang Army began on the third day; the Wagang light cavalry started to appear near Bai Lang's troops, daring not to approach, only watching from afar, constantly taunting Bai Lang as they marched and camped. The endless stream of light cavalry must have relayed all of Bai Lang's movements to the Wagang main force that had not yet arrived, but Bai Lang had hardly any cavalry of his own, so he could not stop their scouting and had to let them be.

Bai Lang was not worried at all; he knew he would eventually clash with the enemy main force, and these light cavalry could only scout, never flank—anyone who dared to come close was courting death. With Bai Lang's martial prowess, if they truly tried a light‑cavalry flank, they would be pursued and slain in an instant. Two thousand men placed a large cart in the middle, unhurriedly marching along the road, while Bai Lang roamed back and forth; none of the light cavalry dared to approach.

The light cavalry gathered in greater numbers; from his horse, Bai Lang could see over a hundred riders forming a whistling column that rushed past, several times threatening to close to arrow range before swiftly turning away. Bai Lang did not give chase—first, his warhorse might not keep up; second, there was no need, since sooner or later they would meet an inescapable enemy—continuing forward would inevitably bring them face‑to‑face with the Wagang main force, without a doubt.

The battlefield lay before a cluster of camps; Li Mi's army, already arrived, had set up several encampments here, surrounding the area on three sides, waiting for Bai Lang to charge. He would not dare to speak for others, but if it were Bai Lang, he would certainly crash through. Such a fierce commander is accustomed to a single powerful strike and never builds defenses. He was almost right—Bai Lang arrived three li away in the morning, and this man did not establish any rear‑guard camps, instead charging forward with a fierce momentum.

Bai Lang also set up a simple circular formation: the two thousand men spread left and right like wings, while Bai Lang, with eighteen riders behind him, formed the central army. Rather than calling it a Crane Wing Formation, it was an unknown formation that rotated around the central army for continuous thrusts. It might later be legendary as the Cart‑Hanging Formation… In any case, Bai Lang launched the attack first, riding his warhorse, wielding a Pu Dao and a Zao Yang Spear, charging forward, followed by the eighteen riders, while the two thousand foot soldiers ran ahead.

Bai Lang's warhorse always veered to one side, probably because the weapons in his hands were heavy; Bai Lang was already tall and strong— even without armor, his weapons and his own weight amounted to 250–260 jin, perhaps even 300 jin, since he hadn't weighed himself in a while. A normal warhorse would struggle to carry him into a charge; this horse, though not small, was likewise strained.

Bai Lang charged to the front of the Wagang army's front line at the camp gate, and immediately arrows rained in from three sides. Among them were bolts from a bed‑mounted crossbow as thick as iron spears—clearly Li Mi's men were giving their all to slay Bai Lang. Bai Lang swung his two weapons; the heavy arms whipped up a gust that blocked the vast majority of arrows. Even the iron‑spear bolts from the crossbow were bent and deflected by a strike of his Zao Yang Spear, though several iron teeth on the spear snapped and bent.

Yet this divine power was already absurdly excessive; even a grandmaster could not block the iron‑spear bolts fired by the Eight Ox Crossbow, and if Zhu Yuyan or Shi Zhixuan were to face those direct bolts, they would be chilled to the bone. Bai Lang's shield was unreliable; his warhorse whinnied a few times as arrows struck it— to prevent the horse from collapsing, Bai Lang did not clothe it in armor. "What a pity!" Bai Lang's vigor shot straight through the horse's body.

Instantaneously the arrows that had pierced flesh flew out, and the bleeding wounds were forcibly compressed by muscle; the injured internal organs ceased bleeding and began to heal as they writhed—effects of Bai Lang's innate true qi. The horse, originally a deep red, now glimmered with metallic sheen on its hide, and with a roar like a tiger or leopard, it slammed into the front of the big shield spear formation. The spears bounced off the horse's body, some veering aside, others snapping under the strain.

The warhorse, as if cast from bronze and iron, smashed the shields ahead, trampled the first and second ranks of soldiers, and kept charging. "Man and horse as one, swift‑riding blade flash!" Bai Lang let out a strange howl, his hands tracing a massive circular spin. Pity those soldiers within two zhang of him; the weapons in his hands were peerless killing tools—the spiked Zao Yang Spear, its wolf‑tooth club shaft, the three‑foot‑long sword blade protruding, and their massive weight.

Under Bai Lang's divine power, it became a storm of flesh and blood; any contact meant death, whether armored or not. Essentially, his right‑hand Zao Yang Spear turned the area into a semicircular, blood‑smeared killing zone—bodies were torn apart, flesh and bone were flung by the force, and even those who luckily avoided being caught were struck by flying bones and killed. Not to mention the lucky fools who ended up smeared with entrails.

Bai Lang's left‑hand Pu Dao was not as long, but wherever its blade struck, it cleaved in two—whether armor or flesh, the victim was merely bent into a right angle. This strike was familiar to everyone; when he broke formations before, the first strike was three times stronger—traditional. His warhorse kept trampling forward, its heavy horseshoes crushing skulls on the ground.

Bai Lang merely waved his two weapons at will; the spears and shields could not hold them, and the soldiers fled from both sides. This was a tactic Li Mi and his generals had devised before battle: surround Bai Lang with multiple layers of troops to sap his stamina. Yet they could not simply let Bai Lang slaughter unchecked, lest morale collapse. Thus they needed elite restrainers; although Li Mi himself stayed idle, many elites had already leapt into the air, encircling towards Bai Lang.

"Well timed!" Bai Lang, invigorated, never dismounted, merely urging his warhorse to surge, while the eighteen riders behind displayed high skill. These eighteen were strong in hard cultivation, powerful, wielding horse‑spears and great swords as they charged. They cleared two fan‑shaped sections, armored cavalry charging and trampling, quickly tearing apart the Wagang army's formation at that point. Meanwhile, the thousand foot soldiers behind seized the chance and rushed in.

Bai Lang did not blindly charge; he assessed the battlefield—after fighting so many battles, he knew he couldn't only think of his own thrill; everyone's thrill was the true thrill. So he turned his horse's head, leading the eighteen riders ahead of the infantry to carve a path and smash the enemy formation. Having just broken the second line, the first wave of elites had already closed in; they wielded either knives or swords, and these swords were battle‑grown blades, not scholar's swords.

Their strikes were decisive; in coordination they each displayed their peak skill—evoking the one‑way thrust of Jing Ke against Qin. Their attacks were the kind that shattered hardened qi, specifically designed to break external, cross‑training techniques— even if they could not kill a practitioner of such methods, they could at least wound them. Bai Lang simply swung his Zao Yang Spear with one hand in a fierce blow, trading injury for death, watching whether they would reciprocate.

It seemed they would not yield; these four were formidable in martial skill, their qi inhalation turning a fierce breaking strike into a gentle, winding wind, using Bai Lang's great force and the swirling gale to slip away. Yet after a brief retreat, the four surged forward again, joined by another four elites already arriving, all charging at Bai Lang. "Huh, relying only on weapons is too crude? Seems you still can't kill me," Bai Lang chuckled, casually discarding his weapon without dismounting, and instead urged his horse to crash into the flank formation.

When he moved, the elites also followed his motion. "Do not follow, withdraw from the formation and defend yourselves first," Bai Lang shouted, and as his qi circulated, the horse seemed to turn into a bronze steed, its trampling force more than doubled. Riding atop, Bai Lang gained height; the opponents would have to attack from above or leap, and Bai Lang waited for the slight delay those upward attacks caused.

His hands either grabbed or slashed; in the blink of an eye he either shattered the nearby swords and knives or seized them. The force reverberated everywhere, sending those elites flying. Bai Lang, clutching a sword, laughed heartily and casually crushed several blades. The man let out a roar; his upper‑body silk armor burst into four pieces, revealing a body covered in vivid tattoos of a floral brocade and seven ferocious beasts baring fangs and claws.

Around Bai Lang, pairs of eyes seemed to open in the hazy illusion. Ordinary soldiers certainly could not see them; the higher the cultivation, the stronger the effect. Seven pairs of eyes, seven fierce birds and beasts merged into a black shape; as Bai Lang's qi flowed, these beasts came to life, each roaring in different tones—of course, all were "illusions." Then Bai Lang launched an attack; the warhorse spewed saliva, its eyes reddened, and seemed to grow sharp canine teeth, snapping its mouth at an elite.

Bai Lang's form surged, leaping down from his horse, bearing a fierce, malevolent aura toward the two men standing side by side. One wielded a sword, the other a whip; as Bai Lang lunged, the whip transformed into a flying dragon, coiling toward him. The swordsman steadied his spirit and qi, thrusting a straight sword that shone like the radiant beams of a rising sun.