Chapter 49

The peasant army before us numbered in the tens of thousands, but like before it consisted of commanders leading their trusted cavalry, veteran soldiers who had seen many battles, then the conscripted civilian militia, and finally the conscripted old, weak women and children. The decisive battle against Governor Sun is proceeding step by step, and the peasant army will eventually be regularized, with most of those conscripted weak folk dismissed and formed into separate camps. But for now, Li Guo's troops are about to clash with Governor Deng's "big army".

Governor Deng had also prepared for a martyrdom, and he was not defending a city now, but simply engaging the peasant army in open field warfare; with his skill, a loss would almost certainly mean he could not escape—he had over three thousand troops that were useless, and could only hope that Bai Lang could break the peasant army. He still held some expectation in this regard.

Bai Lang charged alone, while the cavalry behind him were more than fifty paces away—a clear disconnect. His attire was also splendid: the Ministry of War's finely crafted mountain‑pattern armor glittered, equipped with a tiger‑head mouthpiece and a bright reflective heart shield, turning him into a luminous figure; his phoenix‑wing helm, also a Ministry‑of‑War masterpiece stored in the armory, bore the same tiger‑face ornament, a red tassel atop the helmet, plus Bai Lang's long red cape and the half‑coat on his warhorse that shone equally—truly making Bai Lang the focal point of the battlefield.

"Kill! Kill that Zhu family general!" the peasant soldiers shouted wildly, their bows and arrows flying out, and the firearms were already ready. Bai Lang merely brushed them aside, deflecting the incoming arrows, and said, "Hmph, your bows are far weaker than those of the Jianzhou barbarians!" At that moment Bai Lang held the Green Dragon Crescent Moon Blade in one hand; the blade was a full zhang long, with a four‑chi blade head, looking like a terrifying killing weapon.

Deflecting the arrows was trivial; those arrows could not even pierce the horse armor when they struck the mounts, let alone Bai Lang's broad blade, which easily protected the horse as well. Then came the firearms: the gunmen opened fire the instant Bai Lang surged forward, each firing a shot while everyone else scrambled and dropped their guns, and at that moment Bai Lang was still a full fifty paces away, so nothing hit.

The bows could still fire another volley, but the firearms had no chance. The spear troops had already formed a formation— as the peasant army's territory expanded, many regular Ming soldiers surrendered, and these bandits could now arrange a proper battle line. As usual, the bows were ineffective, and by then Bai Lang had arrived; he pulled the reins, sending his warhorse loping out at an angle, then with one hand seized the rear of the blade's hilt and forcefully swung a slash from back to front.

That was already divine power; even training the Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield shouldn't yield such strength, nor would mastering the San Shi Er Lu Chang Quan Tiger Form True Meaning produce this, so one can only say Bai Lang's body has innate talent. The blade sliced the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound, followed by an indescribable noise—a clattering beat—that saw all the spears either broken or deflected, and the spear‑wielding soldiers themselves, armor and all, were cut apart, blood spraying more than a half‑person high.

With a single slash, not even mail or padded armor could stand; flesh, bone, and skin were all cut through, a ferocity never seen before. Riding the momentum, Bai Lang urged his horse again, this time charging straight into the line of dead bodies he had just slashed. This time Bai Lang held the blade with both hands, his movements limited in range, no longer the wide sweeping slash before, but pivoting on both hands, constantly shifting, deftly dancing left and right around the horse's head—purely achieved by raw strength.

Each movement cleaved armored soldiers, and with almost a single strike the morale of the peasant army's front line collapsed; many fled even without confronting Bai Lang. After Bai Lang scattered that wave, the cavalry behind arrived, seizing the chance to hack the fleeing infantry, driving them to charge the second line. Since Bai Lang was almost right on the heels of those retreating troops, the shouted "No mercy for those who assault the formation!" was useless; the earlier plan to flank from both sides had already been tossed far away by the panicked deserters.

"Truly a peerless war hero! One strike broke the thieves!" Governor Deng shouted in admiration, then called out to the stunned soldiers, "Press forward! Slay the thieves!" The old‑hand Ming troops also let out a shout, charging to cut off heads, but their steps were still slow, and they were ready to turn at any moment.

Bai Lang paid no mind to what was behind him; to him those soldiers were no different from walking flesh. Under the blade's edge and weight, inertia allowed him to slice a person apart with ease, merely by controlling the direction of force. "So it only takes a swing to conserve effort by subtly shifting direction; no wonder the books say a general's charge can last for so long—looks like the principles of this martial art are all connected," he thought. His Tiger Form True Meaning also contains similar attacks, using the recoil of a pounce to change strike direction; both big cats and small cats can achieve this.

Bai Lang charged straight at the enemy's central army, intending to cut down the bandit general or topple the central banner, after which the great force would collapse. At that moment, he met the bandits' true elite— the cavalry. These were veteran thieves or surrendered Ming elite who, through repeated conscriptions, proved themselves and became the bandits' genuine elite today. Yet Bai Lang felt no particular awe at their elite status…

The Green Dragon Crescent Moon Blade reversed its arc, effortlessly cleaving a horse from chest up to the head into two halves, and the rider on its back was likewise split from torso to head; under the blade, the hard skulls of man and horse were as soft as tofu… the mail offered no protection at all. Then Bai Lang flipped his palm, the long blade swung horizontally, again cutting a mounted soldier's upper body together with his horse's head.

Bai Lang lightly pressed the hilt, the long blade leapt over his own horse's head, then from the other side thrust again. This time the bandit rider was pierced at the tip, and with a flick of Bai Lang's hand the man was split cleanly by the Green Dragon Blade. Killing was like mowing grass; after urging his warhorse forward only a dozen steps, he had already slain six veteran cavalrymen without a scratch. Someone drew a bow and released an arrow, but it was stopped by Bai Lang's palm, the fleshy hand surprisingly blocking even a close‑range arrow.

The archer‑rider was seized by Bai Lang's mounted capture; as the two horses tangled, his left hand reached out and pulled the rider from the horse's back. With a flick, the rider slid down, Bai Lang seized his neck and, with force, tore the man's head off—displaying it before everyone and hanging it on his own saddle hook. The cavalry behind arrived, shouting wildly as they charged with bows and spears, while the peasant army's mounted troops began to scatter.

By this time Li Guo had already fled, but the central banner hadn't moved that quickly…