Chapter 93: Crushing the Steppe Alliance

Jamukha raised his saber and rode recklessly across the steppe; the ten thousand cavalry of the Jadaran tribe surrounded and guarded their leader, while the thirteen tribes of the Wang Gubu encircled the Jadaran tribe, advancing and retreating in unison.

Jamukha was now filled with great pride; he believed that Temujin would certainly not renege on his promise, for if he publicly broke his word before them all, they would all make sure Temujin suffered greatly.

As for the Tatars, he did not care about them at all; if even the coward Temujin could breach their camp, kill their leader, and steal their cattle and sheep, then he, Jamukha, certainly could as well.

Once this fortress was taken, the Tatars' wealth, their cattle and sheep, and this most lush and grassy steppe would all be his.

"Boom, boom

Deafening explosions rang out one after another, as if the sky itself was trembling. The warriors of the tribe, who had once been as fierce as wolves, now, amidst the unceasing explosions, were powerless to resist like waves swallowing them whole. The hunters, those figures who had once been as agile as hawks, now appeared so insignificant before this destructive power.

The shockwaves of the explosions ruthlessly threw them into the sky, uncontrollable like kites with broken strings. In an instant, those once-living lives turned into piles of rotting flesh on the ground, bloody and gruesome. The air was filled with the scent of gunpowder and death, making one shudder with fear.

This sudden disaster left the tribe's warriors and hunters with no chance to fight back; their bravery and skills appeared so pale and powerless before this destructive force. Those warriors who had once commanded awe now could only become victims of this disaster.

However, the gloom of the disaster did not dissipate. When they stopped and gasped for breath, one brave and fearless warrior after another, like giants ruthlessly struck down by fate, fell successively into the pools of blood. Their bodies, once full of strength and vitality, now became cold and stiff.

These warriors lying in the pools of blood had one after another shocking blood-filled holes in their heads and chests. Blood gushed from these wounds, staining their battle clothes red and also staining this land that had once been full of hope. These blood-filled holes seemed like the brand of the Grim Reaper, ruthlessly engraved marks upon their bodies, declaring the end of their lives.

Suddenly, their leader, the Gurkhan whom the shaman had prophesied would surely lead them to glory, fell into the pool of blood without warning.

More than a dozen blood-filled holes, identical to the previous ones, suddenly appeared on his body; the unwillingness and shock in his eyes seemed to still be recounting his unfinished ambitions.

At this very moment, the Alan Fortress, guarded by the Tatars, looked like the Gate of Hell to them, and they all fled backward.

Just then, the gates of hell opened wide, and demons crawling out from within ruthlessly snatched their lives with a strange weapon.

This inexplicable way of death was too torturous for them; finally, they collapsed, mounting their fast horses and running backward with all their might.

The retreating Wang Gubu collided head-on with the Taichiwu tribe following closely behind.

"Demons are coming, run!" the collapsing Wang Gubu shouted while swinging their sabers to strike those blocking them ahead.

The leader of the Taichiwu tribe was just wondering when he saw the Tatar cavalry charging toward them; however, these cavalrymen held neither sabers nor bows, only short sticks. Wasn't this asking for death?

"Bang, bang, bang" gunshots rang out one after another; the people of the Taichiwu tribe fell in waves into the pools of blood like wheat being cut down.

The leader of the Taichiwu tribe did not hesitate for a moment; he immediately led his tribe's people to flee backward. Those Tatars were simply too terrifying; from hundreds of paces away, they had already killed one-third of his people. If he didn't run now, his followers would be wiped out by the Tatars.

The collapse of the Wang Gubu and Taichiwu tribes caused the Naiman and Kereit tribes, which were rushing over, to stall; the army of tens of thousands appeared somewhat chaotic. Just then, Guo Jing ordered the cavalry to split into two groups to attack the enemy's flanks in a pincer assault.

Watching the Tatars charge while their own troops were in chaos, the leaders of the Naiman and Kereit tribes were extremely anxious, not knowing what to do for the moment.

The Tatars launched an attack against them; no, it could no longer be called an attack; it should be called a massacre. The Tatars only needed to point their short sticks at them to kill their soldiers from a distance of eight hundred paces.

This was simply too terrifying; the archers they sent out collapsed before even approaching within three hundred paces of the enemy. After dealing with those people, the Tatars launched a slaughter against them.

These twelve thousand cavalry were not here to attack their flanks but to crush them.

The pain of letting the enemy slaughter while being unable to fight back was something no one could endure; the Naiman and Kereit tribes were completely collapsed.

Nearly a hundred thousand cavalry scattered and fled in all directions; everyone waved their whips, whipping their warhorses, hoping they would run faster.

On the hillside, Temujin, who was leading the Mongol tribes to watch the battle, was shocked. At this moment, he was incredibly grateful for his act of tempting the various tribes with the Tatar tribe's wealth, cattle, sheep, and steppe; otherwise, it would have been him who suffered.

The steppe alliance of nearly a hundred thousand people had no chance to fight back against the twelve thousand Tatars.

Borji gulped and asked Muqali, "Muqali, didn't you say we might be able to defeat the Tatars? Is it really possible?"

He considered himself one of the few master archers on the steppe, yet even he could barely shoot an arrow three hundred paces, and whether that distance could kill someone was doubtful; but down below, those Tatars could kill people from eight hundred paces away, which was simply too terrifying.

"I don't know, don't ask me; I only just found out what this short stick is for," Muqali said, shaking his head.

If he had known back then that this short stick was so powerful, he would have definitely stolen two of them to figure out how to make them.

Temujin said nothing and led his army back; staying here was of no use anyway, so it was better to return and discuss countermeasures with the generals.

"Today's battle saw the united steppe tribes soundly defeated by the Tatars. The Tatars will surely seek to unify the entire steppe next. Where should we go from here?" Temujin sighed and asked the generals in the tent.

The generals in the tent fell into silence. Today's battle had indeed given them a huge shock; they truly could not come up with a good plan on how to defeat this terrifying enemy.

Just then, Muqali stepped forward and said, "Today, the Tatars were able to soundly defeat the allied tribes relying on that short stick. We should find a way to get a few of them from the Tatars and then have the craftsmen copy this stick."

Temujin nodded and said to Muqali, "Then I leave this matter to you."