Chapter 83: The Editor Says It Needs a Name, So Let

The one he captured was a Jialazhen; in front of everyone this man couldn't just say "you all step back," didn't you see the lord being taken hostage—if so his future is bleak. Bai Lang, being a good person, clamped the man's neck, logically rendering the fellow unable to speak. He kidnapped a person and stole a horse; those flag soldiers indeed had decent brains, not rushing in blindly. Before a higher‑ranking officer gave orders, no one was willing to act.

However, they couldn't obey the commands of the monster‑like man before them; at most they could drag him along. Still, Bai Lang found a cart, harnessed a horse to it, and left the city. No one dared to give chase, fearing that Bai Lang might simply kill the Jialazhen outright, which would put everyone in a bind. The heads were placed on the cart by a bold cavalryman, because Bai Lang awarded each of them five heads' worth of merit, and the unlucky Jialazhen was kept in Bai Lang's grip the whole way as they rode off.

The whole raid, from its start to Bai Lang's escape, lasted less than half an hour, and the city's main army hadn't even reacted. That was because Bai Lang fought too ruthlessly; the first batch of soldiers tasked with handing over the city defenses were almost all dead or wounded, and most became the fodder Bai Lang sent to Grass Valley. "I say you all love serving your lord, but you Jialazhen look relatively decent among the Tartars—not a cat‑eye catfish mouth—how about I capture you and deliver you to the emperor as a slave?" Bai Lang, idle and mischievous, frightened the not‑yet‑old Jialazhen, even though the fellow should actually be older than him.

The unlucky Tartar wore a mournful face and dared not move—Bai Lang burst into his formation and yanked him down with brute force; the man had witnessed it, and recalling it now feels like a nightmare. His bodyguards were still ahead, yet in the blink of an eye they were scattered on the ground, and the monster's charge was unbelievably fast, like a gust of wind. Bai Lang tossed the fellow beside the heads on the cart and asked, "How many is this?"

The daring Ye Bushou replied very respectfully, "Report to young protector Bai, we have collected sixty‑three Tartar heads in total." Bai Lang stroked his chin beard, sadly noticing it was stuck with blood, and said, "Only sixty‑three heads from this round of killing? You four received a total of twenty, and I, the lord, managed only forty‑three heads? By the way, the current market price for a genuine Tartar head is fifty taels each, does the actual receipt reach thirty taels? That would be just over a thousand taels… This business can only be a slow, steady stream."

Suddenly Bai Lang thought that not killing everyone was a good thing, yet he also knew he simply couldn't—if he truly let loose, at Tartar standards he could only slay three or four hundred before his strength gave out, after which the Tartars would hack off his skull… If the Tartars had prepared grappling hooks and fishing nets tangled with hair and iron wire, he would probably have to flee after killing at most two hundred, and that's assuming he wasn't caught; if ensnared, he'd likely die fighting.

So this talk is just bragging, but it's already unrivaled bragging—if he could indeed charge alone into a formation and cut down hundreds, perhaps only the historic Xiang King from the Records could match it. Since Bai Lang noticed his beard stuck with blood, he immediately felt uneasy all over; a close look confirmed it—his body was drenched in blood, the very blood of his wanton slaughter.

While sluggishly wiping the blood from his body with a cloth, Bai Lang muttered to himself, calculating how often to make a trip to Grass Valley, "Once a month seems too frequent; at this rate, in a year there'll be nothing left to reap, and if the Tartars run far away it won't be worth it… Never mind, we'll discuss that later." He lifted his head, "Huh! I hear some family didn't harvest much this time; are they sending extra heads over?"

The troops that chased from within Jinzhou City numbered perhaps over a thousand, all elite Tartar cavalry, many of whom were Baya La. Bai Lang had already seen the dust they raised, "You go ahead, I'll stay for a charge! Don't worry, how could the Ming Dynasty Crown Prince Young Protector die so easily in Liaodong?" Bai Lang casually grabbed an iron spear and switched to a poor horse—a fine horse's death would cost a lot, a poor horse's death hurts less.

Now he prepared to charge; whether a fine or poor horse, neither could flee. He couldn't outrun a thousand‑strong cavalry, so he could only meet them head‑on to crush their morale. "Be optimistic—slashing a hundred of the bravest will suffice!" Bai Lang exhaled, stretching his arms and joints, while those few Ye Bushou had already abandoned the cart, fleeing wildly—still remembering to take a few heads with them.

Bai Lang leisurely urged his horse to charge against the enemy, and the Jialazhen was lucky; Bai Lang didn't kill him, nor did the soldiers happen to cut off his head, so they simply left him on the cart. The fellow scrambled down the cart at lightning speed, rolling and crawling sideways away. Bai Lang's eyesight was sharp; the cavalry formation before him was orderly, its momentum like a dragon, a wave of killing intent sweeping the sky. Alone on his horse, Bai Lang smiled at the enemy troops a few hundred paces away.

The next moment, a wild, ferocious white‑tiger killing aura erupted from him—first rendering his own horse useless… Bai Lang shouted a curse and leapt straight from the crippled mount. "What a useless snack, just a tiger rolling on your back, and you're still a warhorse!" His soaring battle spirit threw the opposite side into chaos; the armored riders sensed a surge of killing aura, and the horses, being sensitive, immediately felt a tiger pouncing toward them.

The armored riders' horse‑handling was still a bit better than Bai Lang's, and their horses were fine, so despite the panic nothing major happened; they quickly regained control and the warhorses charged at Bai Lang—leaving the front line uneven and stretched. Bai Lang gripped his spear, weighed it in his hand, then thrust it forcefully toward the enemy. With a low howl, the spear shot like lightning, piercing two men outright.

The spear shattered the first horse's head, then ripped a through‑and‑through hole in the first man's chest, and lodged between the chest and abdomen of the second man behind him. Then Bai Lang unleashed his own martial art—still dropping low and lunging, but this time using leg technique. A whirlwind sweeping‑hall kick snapped the horse's leg as easily as breaking a reed stick. Bai Lang's legs spun like great axes to the left and right, even performing a Thomas spin, toppling several warhorses on both sides, halting his charging momentum instantly.