Chapter 70

"Look, I'm unmatched in the Central Plains!" Bai Lang shouted the slogan, charging straight ahead. The front line before him was shrouded in smoke, and Bai Lang could not discern many people—he was still a mortal with ordinary eyes, and smoke obscured his sight. Still, it was simple: just swing his spear, since the opposite side should all be enemies, hitting any of them would be his misfortune. Moreover, it wasn't total darkness; at least within three feet around him he could see, and there was wind, so the smoke would soon be blown away.

Yet Bai Lang still struck a person; a scream rose from behind the smoke, and his withdrawn weapon was slick with fresh blood—so the next step was simple: charge toward the source of the scream. The smoke was quickly blown away, but before that the cries had already thrown the entire musket line into panic, causing it to collapse backward. If everyone could see, they wouldn't have been so frightened, but the visibility was poor; they could only glimpse a few figures beside them, while the screams grew ever nearer.

If it were Qing Eight Banner troops they might still keep battlefield discipline; the Ming army by now should have fled, and the bandits were no different… This is just like the Qing Eight Banners crushing the Ming line with infantry. The cavalry behind Bai Lang hadn't caught up; those fellows weren't as fierce as Bai Lang, and they even halted their warhorses when the muskets fired, only resuming the charge after Bai Lang surged forward—waiting until the wind cleared half the smoke before moving.

At this moment Bai Lang met armored spearmen and sword‑and‑shield troops; one had to admit the bandits' gear was no worse than the regular army's, which after years of war had repeatedly lost equipment. Bai Lang urged his horse forward, slashing with his sword and thrusting his spear at the soldiers before him. "Huh? Their morale is remarkably high!" Bai Lang exclaimed, surprised; such high morale was something he hadn't seen in ordinary Ming troops.

"So what of it!" Bai Lang roared, his killing motions becoming even more fierce and brutal. Where his blade rose, blood blossomed; where his spear struck, screams rang. Bai Lang surged through the enemy formation like an unrivaled mower, bellowing, and a thousand fell. Governor Sun of the rear formation watched the battle and said to his left and right, "Commander Bai truly has kingly bravery; even ghosts and gods shy away!"

Bai Lang's blade was everywhere, but it got lodged in a man's body; he flicked his hand to shake the corpse loose, "Hmph! The blade is already curled!" Looking back, the iron spear's tip had also become curled, and the warhorse beneath him was snorting. Bai Lang turned his head and shouted, "Send it over!" With that, the man leapt down from the air, vaulted onto another warhorse, and slapped the packhorse his subordinate was carrying, drawing a sword and a spear. He had ordered a few bodyguards before the battle that they need not fight, only to bring their packhorses and replacement warhorses as close to him as possible.

After swapping horses and weapons, Bai Lang surged at the enemy formation again. No other martial arts were needed on this battlefield—just raw strength and speed: slay the opponent before they can wound you; if they strike, trade injury for death. Bai Lang was like a massive rock cleaving the waves, cutting and thrusting, marching straight toward Li Zicheng's central troops. When a horse grew tired he changed mounts, when his blade dulled he switched weapons; he never once fell back from the front line.

Among Li Zicheng's troops there were also brave riders who charged forward with their own men to block Bai Lang, but they were repeatedly cut down from their horses. Bai Lang wielded an iron spear in his left hand and a long sword in his right; when he met such warriors he simply alternated his hands—sometimes spear thrust then sword slash, or sword cut forcing a block followed by a lethal spear thrust. No cavalry could match him; even the die‑hard soldiers who were prepared to sacrifice their lives for a single wound on Bai Lang's body were few.

While Bai Lang roamed the battlefield, smashing multiple formations, Li Zicheng had to turn his attention to this terrifying champion, yet none of his fierce generals dared to face Bai Lang head‑on. Ridiculous—they had just seen the imperial general lift a rider with a single‑handed spear, even tossing his warhorse away… Of course the price was that Bai Lang had to change horses immediately, because that strike had completely exhausted his own mount.

Bai Lang's horse was pursued by a mass of fleeing soldiers, while the light cavalry behind him had torn a huge gap in Li Zicheng's main force, forcing Li to commit reserve troops from the rear camp to fill it. Bai Lang's charge was indeed a straight‑through rush, but his armor had been torn in several places, and he himself bore wounds—thanks to the horse's power, only a few lucky warriors could break through the Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield technique and injure his body…

Yet the wounds only made Bai Lang's ferocity more savage, like a wounded tiger. His roar stunned the soldiers, their limbs went weak, some simply turned and fled; the troops that had just been deployed began to scatter before even engaging. The might of Bai Lang's White Tiger Army erupted. The foot soldiers before him were nothing but sheep, allowing Bai Lang to charge and slaughter, when suddenly a gleaming Hidden Weapon—a flying needle—appeared directly before his eyes.

Bai Lang hurriedly closed his eyes, while his Internal Force surged wildly, gathering on his eyelids; he felt a coolness on his lids, and at the same time he dropped his weapon and reached for his own eyes. After confirming his eyes were fine, a chill spread across his chest, followed by a stabbing pain. Bai Lang instantly abandoned his horse, used Lightness Skill to float backward, then thrust a fierce palm from his left hand forward, the force so violent that it forced his assailant to cease the attack.

The needle‑shaped Hidden Weapon failed to pierce his eyelids, so his eyes were unharmed; Bai Lang was incensed, and the aura he emitted made it seem at a glance as if a tiger had materialized around him—but that was merely an illusion created by his momentum; to truly assume Tiger Form he would first need to become an Innate Expert. Bai Lang reached out and felt a sword lodged in his chest, though it had only torn skin and flesh about an inch deep, and was stopped by his ribcage.

Commander Bai looked around and saw that they were several unarmored martial artists dressed in civilian attire, who had blended among the soldiers and suddenly rose to attack him. "A moment of carelessness, and you rats have leapt out!" Bai Lang's voice rang like clashing metal, and in his fury his tone even changed. "The bravery of a ferocious tiger—hmph, you haven't seen what we call the bravery of a ferocious tiger, have you?" Bai Lang, still enraged, let his mouth curl slightly upward as he uttered the words in a low voice. Then, with a sudden thunderous tiger roar, Bai Lang's two claws slipped, and his body dropped down…