Chapter 693: Killing Machine

Punu spared no expense to take the Great King's head, but the Great King didn't even consider his head worth a glance.

He didn't really want it.

"These barbarian tribes never think of working hard; whenever disaster strikes or they face difficulties, their first thought is the Central Plains. Today I will correct this bad habit of theirs!"

Expanding territory and opening new lands is the highest honor for a warrior.

Such a fine opportunity is today—we will crush the steppe cavalry and let the bandits taste the century of suffering we have endured on the Great Jin's frontier!

"What I say as a thousand li is a thousand li. We will also seize a piece of the great steppe and raise sheep and war horses! I have studied the map in advance; a thousand li forward from here roughly reaches the Lantuo River region. I will then erect a stele offering sacrifice to heaven by the Lantuo River to record this battle. Those who perform well in this battle, I will inscribe their names—everyone will have a chance to leave their mark in history~~"

Never mind the cavalry from Youzhou—the Great King's grand promise even filled Bai Li Hu. The steppe has always been a dagger hanging over the Great Jin's head, and this promise is a temptation even he cannot resist.

To have the steppe cede land… how wonderful.

The tail of the cold snap lingered over this barren plain, ten thousand cavalry formed up at the canyon mouth, and the faint white mist exhaled by the warhorses instantly condensed in the icy wind.

Ahead, a force of over ten thousand people pressed with overwhelming momentum.

The troop ratio was ten to one.

The Great King raised his wolf-tooth spear, and the first rank of cavalry simultaneously urged their horses forward.

Not a charge—just the start. Iron hooves shattered the thin frost, emitting a fine crackling; the horses shifted from a walk to a trot, the formation flowing like liquid mercury, retaining near-perfect uniformity.

Two hundred paces.

The trot broke into a gallop. Hoofbeats changed from the crisp crack of shattering ice to a dense drumming, the earth began to tremble. In the morning light, ten thousand swords and spears of all kinds were drawn simultaneously, their cold gleam joining into a sheet like a silver‑white river spanning heaven and earth.

A bugle call sounded from the enemy ranks; the front‑line archers lifted their bows, arrows pointing to the sky.

Punu snorted coldly in the formation, "The Bai Li lad is arrogantly overconfident—he didn't even bring a shield!"

Fire—!

He soon realized the Owl Cavalry needed none of that—their very bodies were shields.

One hundred fifty paces.

Scatter——!

The Dark Armor Cavalry's originally tight formation suddenly opened, leaving large gaps between each warhorse.

The enemy's first volley of arrows fell.

The bowstrings thundered like muffled roar, a black cloud of arrows blotting out a patch of sky.

The Northern Border Cavalry's formation held steady.

One hundred paces.

The cavalry's breath condensed into white mist in this dawn destined to be stained with blood, mingling with the horses' exhaled heat. The enemy's faces grew ever clearer—the Great King could see the cruelty and greed in their eyes.

At eighty paces, the ten thousand warhorses had already surged forward—the sound of full‑speed charge was not thunder, for thunder lacks such density; not drums, for drums lack such depth. It was the primal collision of iron and earth, the devastating roar of weight carried in flesh and bone, hurled at extreme speed against solid objects.

Bai Li Hu was caught in the center of the formation; the sound seemed to hammer directly on his heart. His heart resonated with the hoofbeats, beating faster and faster, until it felt like it would burst.

So this is what a battlefield is.

Twenty paces.

The Owl Cavalry at the very front did not slow at all; they saw the terrified, distorted faces of the enemy's front rank.

Who wouldn't panic? The opposing force surged forward with a ferocious momentum, as if resolved to crush the world. Most importantly, after the arrow rain not a single rider fell.

They collided.

The Owl Cavalry drove in like a wedge, their hooves flipping the front rank's shields. The Xiongnu's wooden‑hide shields were as fragile as eggshells, bending and shattering easily under the immense impact.

The clang of iron on iron, the crack of bones crushed under hooves, the dying screams—all exploded in an instant.

Before Bai Li Hu's eyes a skull flew upward, blood spurting from the neck, turning into a red mist in the cold wind.

He gripped his straight sword, urging himself on. Even a salted‑fish three‑fatty could sweep a Xiongnu from his horse with a single thrust—he could too, he had learned how to kill! But the Owl Cavalry circling him gave him no chance to strike. He could only watch as they kept slashing—horizontal pull—cutting a throat; upward lift—shearing off half a face.

This wasn't combat—it was reaping.

Ten thousand cavalry quickly carved a bloody path through the sea of over a hundred thousand foes. The steppe shattered their dream of crossing the pass, crushing them to pieces on first contact.

Punu exhausted himself trying to rally and encircle the troops, but to no avail—the hundred‑thousand strong army had already descended into chaotic fighting, its numerical advantage nowhere to be seen as they were split, attacked from front and rear, flanked on both sides.

The Great King's ten thousand elite troops were like a gigantic razor, scraping layer after layer across the flank of the hundred‑thousand.

Each pass swept away hundreds, even thousands of lives.

Each pass caused the enemy formation to contract inward by an inch.

And each inch of contraction meant the formation grew denser, meaning the next pass could shave off even more flesh.

Punu finally panicked; they were like moths trapped in a web, no matter how they struggled they could not break free.

The Xianbei on the flank were already shouting hoarsely for retreat, the Xiongnu cavalry likewise fell into disorder—any battle formation or command meant nothing before the vast killing machine, and they began to scatter in disarray across the hills and fields.

"Withdraw!" it was like a sigh no one heeded, and the once‑invincible steppe cavalry collapsed.

The dark tide coming from the steppe arrived slowly, but receded as swiftly as a collapse.

The Great King wiped a splash of blood from his eye and reined in his horse.

"You give up too easily—coming and going as you please, the price you pay for starting a war is far too small!"

Pursue!

In this battle, above the blades lay the burial ground of fifty thousand.

Below the blades lay the Great Jin's lost century of celestial dignity.

Having received the news, the Shuofang Pass reinforcements sent to mop up arrived to find a battlefield awash in blood; the ten thousand elite troops that had come from afar had already pushed deep into the steppe.