Chapter 104: Revolution

Across the endless grassland, as far as the eye could see, heaven and earth seemed to meet, where a cavalry force of over a thousand riders galloped fiercely. Yet their figures bore no resemblance to the heroic, unrestrained image people imagined.

These riders’ faces were etched with exhaustion and disgrace, their dusty, grimy appearance heart-wrenching. The sound of their hooves echoed across the steppe, no longer a powerful, rhythmic thunder, but a heavy, weary trudge.

They relentlessly whipped their warhorses, trying to find even a glimmer of hope in this vast grassland. But the wind on the steppe seemed to conspire against them, whipping up clouds of dust that made their already exhausted faces even more sallow.

“Father, are we really going to abandon Grandfather and flee alone?” A young rider among the cavalry asked the leader.

The boy was Du Shi, grandson of Wang Han; the leader was Sang Kun, Wang Han’s son.

“Du Shi, what could we possibly accomplish if we turned back? If we went to warn your grandfather, we’d never escape in time—we’d only die alongside our benefactor. Now, by staying alive, we can one day avenge your grandfather.”

Temujin rode on, offering comfort.

“Forget it. What can we do now to avenge our father? Just surviving is already a stroke of luck in this misfortune.” The battle with Guo Jing had utterly shattered every last shred of his pride.

He had once believed himself a fierce wolf of the steppe, whose slaves and herders dared not meet his gaze; he thought no one on the grassland could stand against him.

Until one day, his pack of wolves encountered the soldiers of the gods—soldiers wielding weapons bestowed by the divine, effortlessly defeating every force on the steppe.

And just now, the god himself had intervened. When he saw Guo Jing summoning lightning to slaughter his troops, he nearly collapsed.

At this moment, he no longer cared about reclaiming his tribe or avenging his father—only that the god spare his life.

The collapse of the Kerait army was astonishingly swift. The fleeing soldiers, in their panic, had no chance to even send word to Wang Han; they scattered like dead leaves swept by a gale, too frantic to look back.

Guo Jing, leading his troops, surged forward like a swift hunting leopard, charging straight toward Wang Han’s royal tent.

The moment Guo Jing burst into the tent, Wang Han lay sprawled on his bed, reeking of alcohol. His bloated, corpulent frame was glaringly grotesque. Without hesitation, Guo Jing strode forward, seized Wang Han, and yanked him off the bed.

Drunk and struggling, Wang Han cursed Guo Jing. Guo Jing’s face twisted in irritation; with a sudden flick of his wrist, he hurled Wang Han hard to the ground. The pain jolted Wang Han slightly awake. He lifted his head with difficulty—and the sight before him left him stunned.

Months ago, the mighty army that had crushed them so easily now reappeared before his eyes. But this time, their numbers were tripled—black as a tidal wave, surging forward with thunderous might.

The roar of tens of thousands of revolutionary soldiers, the thunder of hooves, the clashing of armor—all merged into an indescribable, overwhelming force. Wang Han’s heart sank to the abyss. Gazing at this unstoppable army, the man who had just moments before been arrogant and domineering now collapsed to the ground, utterly drained.

“Great Khan, spare my life! I was a fool to believe Temujin and led my troops against you! If you spare me, I will bring the entire Kerait tribe under your command—I swear allegiance to you alone!” Wang Han’s face was ashen, his eyes pleading. He begged for mercy, bowing his head repeatedly to the ground—each bow striking like a heavy hammer, echoing dully.

“Whether I forgive you is not my decision—it belongs to the countless oppressed masses who suffered under your tyranny. If they forgive you, I will not pursue it.” Guo Jing gestured for men to take Wang Han away and detain him—he did not wish to look at this man.

“Hasa’er, Huduchi, you two regiments stay here to await Comrade Nie’s arrival to take over. I’ll lead the rest to pursue Temujin.” Guo Jing immediately ordered two regiments to hold the position.

Hearing Guo Jing’s decision, the nearby staff officer hurried to advise: “Commander, taking only ten thousand men to pursue him—isn’t that too risky? Shouldn’t we wait for Comrade Nie’s reinforcements?”

“No need. The Qiyin and Kerait tribes have just been defeated; their loyalty to us is still weak. We can’t afford to leave insufficient garrisons. Now, the only tribe Temujin has allied with on the steppe is the Naiman. Ten thousand men are enough to deal with them.” Guo Jing, having just crushed the Qiyin and Kerait, was brimming with confidence.

He had already defeated Temujin’s ten-thousand-man coalition. How much harder could it be to crush the Naiman’s mere tens of thousands? This campaign, even if he failed to catch Temujin, would annihilate the Naiman—leaving the future Son of Heaven with no place left to stand on the steppe.

Gazing at the soldiers who had fought beside him, shared life and death with him, Guo Jing’s heart swelled with boundless passion, like a river surging uncontrollably.

“Comrades, we have defeated the Qiyin, then destroyed the Kerait. Now, the only enemy left on the steppe is the Naiman. The oppressed masses of the Naiman await our liberation. Comrades—do we still have any reason to let them suffer under the yoke of slave masters?” Guo Jing raised his arm and shouted.

“No!” Tens of thousands of cavalry roared in unison. Their voices rolled like thunder across the land. Since their training and reorganization, they had never lost a battle.

All enemies standing before them crumbled like dry straw before the wind. They had been the Tatar, the Onggirat, the Taichiud—but now they had only one name: the People’s Army.

They joined for all kinds of reasons: some wanted their families to get priority in livestock distribution; others coveted the army’s generous rations. They were crude, ignorant men, knowing little.

But as their families’ lives improved, they learned what it meant to serve the people. Their officers treated them with equal respect; their political instructors taught them what it meant to stand up, what it meant to have dignity.

They did not fight to defend the nobles’ wealth and glory. They fought so their families and descendants could live in a better world—a world where no one had to kneel and beg like a dog.

This world, they were willing to die for. At this moment, all of them shared one common enemy: the masters who had turned them into dogs.

They would revolutionize them.