Chapter 872

"Report, General: Yuan's forces appear to be showing signs of halting; recent grain transport has dwindled, and units are retreating."

Inside the command tent, the messenger faithfully relayed frontline reconnaissance reports.

The mounted scouts had it tough too—Yuan's forces knew Wang Yan's mounted scouts were formidable, so they deployed dozens of fifty-man patrols to prevent intelligence gathering. They weren't good at fighting, but they could weave a tight defensive net. No matter how strong the scouts were, they operated in groups of two or three, unable to match so many Yuan troops.

And whenever Wang Yan sent matching forces—fifty or a hundred men—Yuan's side would respond with five hundred or a thousand. If Wang Yan increased his force further, the enemy would rely on fortified cities, supporting each other, striking here, then there. Whenever Wang Yan showed signs of advancing toward Gao Yi, they would mobilize ten thousand men in a single formation, encircling from all sides.

This tactic was utterly nauseating, making reconnaissance by the mounted scouts extremely difficult. It was winter, it was war—civilians dared not leave their homes, making concealment hard. Getting in was simple; getting out was another matter entirely.

After hearing the messenger's report, Wang Yan smiled.

The battles of Julu, Xiaquyang, and Shijiazhuang had all shown that the fiercest clashes occurred at the war's outset. Both sides maneuvered troops across hundreds of miles. Yuan's strength lay in sheer numbers; Wang Yan's lay in superior combat effectiveness, courageous commanders, rapid logistics, and equally strong second-line militia.

In these early engagements, Wang Yan exploited gaps in Yuan's troop movements to repeatedly create local battles of twenty to thirty thousand against Yuan's thirty to forty thousand, while also launching deep penetrations to disrupt supply lines. Step by step, the front line was pushed from Xu Shui to Zhen Ding.

During this process, Yuan's civil and military officials fully grasped Wang Yan's strength: ten thousand men holding back over forty thousand, yet still pressing them relentlessly? In both individual soldier combat capability and overall military command, they were utterly crushed. So they stopped boasting and simply dug in, holding their ground.

Yuan Shao, of course, wanted to retreat. But gamblers always believe the next hand will win—even stunned, Yuan Shao still thought waiting a little longer would bring an opportunity.

But in truth, since winter began and Yuan's forces took to defending cities, they had already lost. They couldn't fight back out in the open, while Zhou Cang was slowly devouring their territory.

Now, with sudden signs of retreat, Wang Yan immediately realized: Zhao Yun and Liao Hua had circled around—this was the final blow crushing Yuan Shao.

Understanding this, Yuan Shao's intentions were obvious. The old man planned to flee south of the Yellow River, relying on Yanzhou to hold out. How Wang Yan would respond, naturally, needed no explanation.

Chase the fleeing enemy with all remaining vigor; do not seek empty fame like the Overlord.

Wang Yan waved the messenger away, summoned his personal guards, and ordered: "Order Huang Zhong, Tai Shi Ci, and Lü Bu to immediately mobilize and strike deep behind enemy lines to block their retreat. Order Zhou Cang to advance westward straight toward Gao Yi. My main force will press toward Zhen Ding—we depart today."

The guards bowed and hurried out to relay the orders.

Wang Yan also dressed, donned his tiger-pelt greatcoat, tidied his hair, mounted his horse, and set out ahead. The subsequent camp dismantling would be swift—training, beyond physical strength, trained rapid mobility.

Yuan Shao's retreat would inevitably carry off Jizhou's wealth and the tens of thousands of troops he'd recruited—all aimed at relocating to Yanzhou. Along the way, he'd likely drag off countless civilians too.

This was an inevitable choice—anyone in Yuan Shao's position would do the same. Even what couldn't be taken would be burned. The principle: if I can't have it, neither can anyone else. If I suffer, no one else shall prosper.

Wang Yan could never accept this. He had to do everything possible to stop it. Saving even one part now would make governing Jizhou easier later. After all, Jizhou had nearly six million people; even after years of reduced harvests, war, and plague, over four million remained. Wang Yan, after ten years of building his domain, had barely reached four million himself. To properly develop Jizhou, massive future investment would be needed. What he reclaimed now would become future construction capital.

As the army marched on, when Wang Yan reached the walls of Zhen Ding, the city was already empty—Yan Liang, stationed ahead, had begun retreating. They had planned to wait, but Wang Yan had detected their movements, and Huang Zhong, Tai Shi Ci, and Lü Bu had charged south with relentless force—they dared not stay.

If those three broke through, they wouldn't catch Yuan Shao—he'd been fleeing for half a month—but they could cut off his escape route, trapping the entire force in Jizhou. If captured by Wang Yan, death without burial awaited.

Undoubtedly, people at this time believed in dust to dust, earth to earth, and burial for peace. Not just burial—but burial in ancestral tombs. Wang Yan routinely turned corpses into bone men or flayed them, exposing muscle tissue; either fate terrified them. To many, Wang Yan was a true demon—deserving of a thousand cuts.

The chill of early spring lingered; the earth was thawing but not yet solid. Where many walked, unpaved ground turned to mud. Wang the General sat calmly on his horse, hands tucked into his wide sleeves, gazing sadly at the desolate wilderness.

To be precise, this land wasn't truly uninhabited. Many ruined homes stood open, empty inside. Corpses littered the roadside, their heads all turned north. They'd heard Wang the General governed for the people, treated them kindly—but alas, they fell before dawn.

"Leave twenty thousand behind; the rest advance south to pursue the enemy."

Wang Yan gave the order without turning back; his guards immediately spurred their horses away.

The second-line troops had no elite generals. Though many of Lü Bu's elite gifts had been assigned to them, their skill remained inadequate. If one had to name someone standout, it was Gao Shun. This lad had second-rate combat ability but top-tier training and command skills. The rest were far inferior. Even Lü Bu had accepted it and worked earnestly—but these men still clung to their old pride.

War is the fastest path to promotion. By now, many had risen. Lü Bu himself commanded ten thousand troops. Lü Bu, Huang Zhong, and Tai Shi Ci led the first-line troops in front; Wang Yan directed strategy while personally commanding over a hundred thousand second-line troops, overseeing everything from frontline support to logistics.

It was still due to insufficient talent—no one else could handle all these tasks. He, Wang the General, had to personally command ten thousand troops.

At the general's command, the army began a rapid march preserving combat readiness. Wang Yan refused to believe Yuan's troops could outrun his soldiers…

In Bo Ren County (Xingtai's Longyao), Lü Bu wore black armor, sat atop Red Hare, wielded his halberd, and wore a crimson cloak—majestic and imposing. This war finally elevated him to Captain, commanding ten thousand troops. But due to ongoing warfare, his unit's structure hadn't been formalized, and he still lacked a formal title.

Yet Lü Bu was pleased—it meant he'd returned to his peak. Though working for Wang Yan, he had to admit: Wang Yan was an excellent boss. Everything was clear, he never hindered advancement, never feared Lü Bu gaining military power. That trust was priceless to him.

In recent times, he'd faithfully executed Wang Yan's orders, winning several brilliant battles. His soldiers' high combat effectiveness and discipline made them as responsive as his own limbs—campaigns went smoothly. Yet sadly, he'd yet to slay an enemy general or seize a banner.

Earlier, he'd received Wang the General's order to pursue Yuan Shao south. He immediately led his troops through enemy lines, but halfway, he met Liao Hua and Zhao Yun. They learned Yuan Shao himself led eighty thousand troops, charging south in disorganized, headlong formation—and had already crossed the Yellow River.

With no choice, the four conferred and decided: Zhao Yun and Tai Shi Ci would hold the Yellow River's edge; Liao Hua, Lü Bu, and Huang Zhong would strike the thirty thousand troops streaming south.

Yuan Shao's eighty thousand could march as one, heedless of order—but even then, Liao Hua and Zhao Yun shattered their formation; only thirty thousand crossed. The rest couldn't march as one—that was suicide.

They had to plan routes, choose crossing points, negotiate with local magnates, and ensure mutual support—a complex operation.

Thus, opportunity arose. When they hid in cities, they were helpless; now they were out in the open, desperate to flee south, demoralized and broken—easy to dismantle.

The overall tactic: the generals would disrupt, delay the southern advance, shatter Yuan's organized units, and kill fleeing magnates and wealthy families. Lü Bu was the first line; further south stood Huang Zhong; Liao Hua used cavalry mobility to roam, seeking openings. At the river's edge, Zhao Yun and Tai Shi Ci waited.

As for being overwhelmed or surrounded—that was impossible. If Yuan's forces dared to halt, Wang Yan would arrive within six hours. That fast.

Lü Bu now stood atop a hill. Beyond lay endless flat wilderness—perfect terrain. Height advantage, wide visibility.

He'd received scout reports: forty thousand troops approaching this direction. This wasn't his first engagement—he'd shattered twenty thousand yesterday.

"General, they're coming."

Someone beside him unnecessarily reminded him.

Lü Bu said nothing, silently watching distant figures emerge—a long, sprawling shadow covering the vast plain. Though defeated, they still flew banners—not for show, but for communication.

At that moment, a scout rode up the slope, openly, with no concealment.

There was no need to hide. Yuan's forces were advancing south; Lü Bu's were blocking. Yuan had numbers; Lü Bu had few. Yuan wouldn't take this road—they'd take another. But no matter which road, such a massive force couldn't be hidden. Yuan knew Wang the Bandit would attack; Lü Bu knew Yuan would come. So why hide?

Most importantly, Yuan's forces had learned from battle—they no longer split forces. No vanguard or rearguard—only coordinated groups of tens of thousands moving together. They spread out, marched south in force, destroying farmland, dragging off civilians, gathering magnates and wealthy families. In spring planting season, this was suicide.

The scout reined up the slope, struck his chest in salute: "Report, General: Yuan's command banner bears the character 'Yan'—Yan Liang is in this force."

Lü Bu finally smiled, his gaze cold as he watched Yuan's troops raise shields, level spears, and form battle lines. A general's highest creed: lead every charge, slay the enemy commander, seize the banner.

He, the peerless warrior, had fought in such a great war yet failed to slay a general—unacceptable. Since joining Wang Yan, perhaps due to clearer conscience, no more worries, and the ban on alcohol, his martial skill had risen further. Yet still, no achievements—unforgivable.

He knew Yan Liang well—they'd clashed at war's start. But Yan Liang had been lucky: after one exchange, sensing defeat, he fled immediately. Back then, Lü Bu was still Commandant, with only two thousand men, trapped in enemy ranks, unable to pursue.

Now, things were different…

"Kill!"

As Lü Bu spoke, those around him swung their horse lances, crimson banners fluttering wildly in the wind.

Lü Bu secured his faceplate, raised his halberd, then spurred his horse down the slope, charging straight at Yuan's lines. Behind him, two thousand cavalry followed, dark lances gleaming with cold light.

The remaining eight thousand infantry didn't rush—they still had far to go. If they sprinted all the way, what use would they be? So they descended the slope at a steady jog, their formation stretched wide. Organized by squads, each squad supported its neighbors, squads linked together. They lacked tactical coordination, but they knew exactly where to strike.

If one had to compare, Wang Yan's squad leaders fought better than many warlords' mid-level officers…

As a general, Yan Liang should have charged with his men—but he didn't. He'd learned his lesson. Before battle, he'd thought Lü Bu was nothing special, thought Wang the Bandit was nothing special, believed that with his command, he could march north all the way to the northeast, strip Wang the Bandit of his skin, stuff it with straw, and treat his corpse exactly as Wang had treated others. Yes—that's exactly what he'd thought before the war began.

But ever since he had arrived at the battlefield brimming with confidence—especially after nearly being run through by Lü Bu's halberd—he had become much more subdued. Looking back afterward, he felt quite fortunate: had it not been for a common soldier playing the part of a horse and disrupting Lü Bu's movement, that one thrust would have taken his life outright.

So from then on, he no longer charged at the front of the formation. He began to plan from behind the lines, convinced that "being able to fight is useless." In the wars that followed, he and a group of strategists racked their brains, trying to use their superior numbers and schemes to wipe out the Wang bandit. But the truth was, they were beaten senseless by the Wang bandit.

He had to admit that the Wang bandit was truly a brilliant commander, an absolute master of tactics. No matter what they did, no matter how they shifted their troops, the Wang bandit would always find a gap in their formation and send one fierce general after another to smash them apart. Even when they had no gaps, the Wang bandit would create one through maneuvering—most often by deep penetration—forcing them to shift in response, thereby tearing a hole in their deployment and striking them.

Although back in Gao Yi he had been the loudest and most aggressive, once real fighting began, he was the first to submit. Countless times he wanted to urge Yuan Shao to stop the war and sue for peace, but he never spoke the words—he truly didn't dare.

Watching the enemy general gallop from afar, leap his horse over the heads of the shield soldiers, and tear open a gap in the battle formation in one stroke—watching that familiar halberd of heaven and earth—terrible memories of death closing in surged back. He tightened his grip on his long spear.

He wanted to flee, but had nowhere to go. Steadying his mind, watching Lü Bu charge straight at him to kill, he gritted his teeth secretly, finally raised his long spear, and with a great shout, rode forward to meet him.

At this moment, there was nothing else in his world—no sound, no extra people—only Lü Bu, mounted on a tall horse, wearing a ghost mask, gripping his painted halberd.

He felt his vision slowing. He could clearly see the trajectory of Lü Bu's painted halberd as it shifted up, down, left, right. The feeling was so wondrous; he had never experienced anything like it before.

He spotted an opening. He wanted to use his spear to deflect Lü Bu's painted halberd, wanted to thrust his spear straight at Lü Bu's throat.

In his eyes, Lü Bu was so slow. He saw Lü Bu's painted halberd suddenly straighten out. He saw Lü Bu's technique change—the opening from a moment ago was gone. He watched the painted halberd gradually bearing down on him.

Everything was so slow, and yet so fast.

So fast that by the time Lü Bu's painted halberd had already pierced into his eye, he had made no dodging movement at all…

Lü Bu ran Yan Liang through the head with one thrust of his halberd. Quite pleased with this masterpiece, he immediately chopped down Yan Liang's commander's banner with another swing. Then he continued to cut down the Yuan soldiers. This time his mind was clear and unblocked, and swinging his painted halberd felt several degrees lighter…

Wang Yan reined in his horse by the Yellow River, watching the Yuan army across the way that had escaped with their lives.

Although quite a number of able-bodied troops still managed to escape, it remained within acceptable limits. Wang Yan chased and struck from behind, Lü Bu and the others intercepted and struck along the way, and by the Yellow River, Zhao Yun and Tai Shi Ci were still hammering them. After all this along the route, in the end only about a hundred twenty or thirty thousand people successfully crossed the Yellow River—and among them were a great many powerful clans and wealthy households. Because of the need to intercept able-bodied laborers from crossing, many clans were indeed given the chance to flee.

But Wang Yan didn't care. Dying early or dying late was still dying; it was merely a few more years of wretched survival after crossing the river.

What was clearly more important now was restoring production and daily life in Hebei. That damned Yuan Shao chose to withdraw his army at the start of spring—right when spring plowing was underway. The great army, caring about nothing, fled southward, causing tremendous damage to Hebei's production. Furthermore, along the way they dragged civilians along with them. Although they didn't take many people with them, there were still quite a few elderly who were tormented to death, women who were ravaged, and so on. For one thing, the population decreased; for another, plague broke out. A complete mess.

All of this was waiting for General Wang Da to handle…